


Birthright - Part I

by Arbryna



Series: Birthright [1]
Category: Camelot (TV), Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Bloodplay, Chains, Crossover, Dubious Consent, F/F, Foursome - F/F/F/F, Harm to Children, Multi, Power Play, Rape/Non-con References, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan Pendragon's life was turned upside down when her mother was killed to make room for her father's new wife. When a mysterious Sister arrives from across the sea in D'Hara, she enters a world she never could have imagined – and was always meant to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place mainly in D'Hara, so if you haven't seen Camelot, or don't like some of the characters, rest assured that this is very much about fitting Morgan into LotS canon, not the other way around. It's my intention to make this comprehensible (and hopefully enjoyable) to Seeker fans, whether they've watched Camelot or not.

Morgan peered through the doorway as her father greeted the mysterious woman. She didn't know why the woman in black was here, but she knew it couldn't be good, because her father had been in a bad mood all day. When Uther stepped back to slump back down in his throne, Morgan's gaze shifted to the woman next to him. Her eyes darkened as she saw Igraine step forward graciously, offering her hand to the stranger.

Morgan smiled when she saw the strange woman's lips curl up in a sneer before leaning down to kiss her stepmother's hand. At least there was one other person who didn't think Igraine was beautiful and kind and perfect.

The stranger spoke briskly to her father and his wife, but Morgan was too far away to hear what they were saying. She crept closer, slipping just inside the door, hoping to catch some of their conversation.

“Is this the child?” the stranger asked, her eyes pinning Morgan in place. Morgan gasped as she realized she was caught.

Uther turned in his seat to look on his daughter. His mouth twisted in distaste as he took in the wide, fearful eyes, the tiny hands wringing at the front of her drab grey dress.

“Morgan,” he said sharply. “Come greet our guest.”

Morgan crept forward, skirting the thrones to stand before the strange woman. She wasn't dressed all in black; her face was framed by a white cowl, topped with a black hood. Her sharp features stood out starkly against the white fabric. Her jaw was set evenly as she ran her dark grey-green eyes over the child.

Kneeling to look Morgan in the eye, the stranger smiled. Morgan thought something looked wrong about it, but maybe it was because she wasn't used to people smiling at her since her mother died.

“I'm Morgan Pendragon,” she said politely, curtseying like her mother had taught her. “It's nice to meet you.”

The stranger's smile twisted, and Morgan shivered a little. “You can call me,” her eyes flicked to the king and queen, then back at Morgan, “ _Sister_ Nathair.”

Sister Nathair rose back to her feet, turning her attention back to Morgan's father. "Are the child's things packed?"

Uther grunted. "I thought the nunnery was an austere place. What things could she need?"

Igraine looked nervously over at her husband, before speaking softly, reaching behind her throne to pull out a small pack. "I had the servants pack some of her clothes, and some food for the journey."

Morgan turned around to glare at Igraine. She didn't know why the woman was always trying to be nice to her. Didn't she know that Morgan hated her?

Then the content of the conversation sunk in. "Am I going somewhere, Father?" she asked meekly, peeking up at Uther.

He sneered down at her. "It's high time you had a real education," he said gruffly. "Sister Nathair is taking you to a nunnery across the sea, where you'll learn whatever it is young ladies need to learn."

The idea of going away with this stranger scared Morgan, but the idea of getting away from her father excited her more. She nodded. "Yes, Father."

Sister Nathair stepped forward to grab the pack, turning to shove it at Morgan. "Shall we go, then?"

Uther waved his hand dismissively, clearly wishing they were gone already. With a last long look at her father, Morgan turned to follow the mysterious Sister out of the castle.

***

Sister Nathair turned out to be a rather boring traveling companion. She hired a wagon to take them to the sea, and spent most of her time writing in her book with a strange red ink, and then staring at it like it was going to answer her. Morgan quickly decided she didn't like the woman, and spent most of the journey glaring silently at her. Sometimes, when she got tired of that, she'd ask questions. She'd learned that Sister Nathair hated to be questioned.

"What sort of things am I going to learn at the nunnery?" Morgan asked, when they'd been traveling for a day.

Nathair looked up from her book, sneering in irritation. "How to be silent," she growled. "And obedient."

"That sounds boring," Morgan said, fidgeting with the door handle.

"Don't touch that," Nathair snapped, turning back to her book. Morgan pulled her hands back into her lap and glared. She hoped the other people at the nunnery would be better company.

***

The boat was at least different, even if Morgan didn't particularly like the constant swaying under her feet. What made it bearable was the fact that Sister Nathair hardly had any time to write in her book, because she was always hanging over the rails, losing whatever meal she'd last dared to eat.

Once, Morgan sneaked into the cabin they shared while Nathair was retching, and opened up the woman's book. She'd been taught to read, a little, but the strange markings in the book were nothing like the letters she'd learned. She'd been just about to close it when more markings suddenly appeared. Morgan had been so amazed that she'd stared for a few minutes, just barely slamming it shut when she heard Nathair stumbling back down the stairs.

There were other people on the boat, too, which was fun. Most of them were creepy sailors, missing eyes and legs and things, but at least they had plenty of stories to tell. Her mom had always told her the best stories. Then she died, and Uther brought that horrible woman home instead. Igraine had tried to tell her a story once, but Morgan had kicked her until she finally left her alone.

They had been at sea for a fortnight when one of the sailors caught sight of land. Morgan rushed to the bow of the ship, watching excitedly as the dark mass grew larger as they sailed closer to it.

Nathair had figured out how to minimize her nausea by simply not eating, and came to stand next to Morgan, looking only slightly queasy. "That's D'Hara," she said, almost wistfully. "My home, and soon to be yours as well."

***

D'Hara was a lot warmer than Britain, and there was hardly ever any fog. Morgan liked to tilt her head back while she rode, feeling the sun shine on her face, but then Nathair would scold her and tell her to watch where her horse was going.

She missed the sailors from the ship. She hoped they would get to the nunnery soon, so she would have someone else to talk to. Maybe there would even be other children there. Morgan had always wanted a little brother or sister. Her mother had told her she was going to have one a couple of times, but her belly would only grow for a few months and then it would stop, and then she would be sad for a long time. Uther always got really angry when that happened.

But Uther was an ocean away now, and Morgan was glad she only had to deal with Sister Nathair. At least she just ignored Morgan most of the time, instead of yelling at her.

It wasn't too long before they reached the nunnery, a sprawling stone building with towers that rose higher than anything at Castle Pendragon. Morgan sat on her horse and stared up at them in awe until Nathair came up next to her and made her dismount. She climbed down from her horse, her legs stiff from riding every day for close to a month. When she left Britain, she'd had no idea that the journey would take so long.

They led their horses through the front gates, into a large courtyard. A couple of quiet men came forward to take the horses to the stables, nodding subserviently to Nathair. She thrust the reins into their hands, her eyes scanning the far end of the courtyard. Her lips curled up in the hint of a smile as she saw an older woman approaching them, dressed in the same black and white robes.

The woman came to a stop a few paces away from them, nodding stiffly to Nathair.

"I require a bath," Nathair said curtly, seeming to forget that Morgan was even there now that she'd fulfilled her duty. "And a change of clothing," she added with a slight shudder.

The older woman nodded. "The sisters will attend you inside."

Nathair nodded dismissively before stalking off toward the doors.

The older woman paid her no heed, kneeling down to get a good look at Morgan, smiling eagerly. "You must be Morgan," she said, her eyes bright with interest. Morgan nodded silently. They'd been traveling for so long; now that she was here, she was overwhelmed by it all. The woman reached out to stroke her cheek. "I'm Sibyl."

***

Sibyl led Morgan into a far corner of the courtyard, where a stairwell wound down into the ground. When the stairs finally came to an end, there was a large iron door in front of them. Sibyl reached into her robes and pulled out a set of keys, flipping through them to find the right one. As she pulled the heavy door open, they were met with two fierce looking women dressed in skintight leather, pointing strange red sticks at them like swords. Morgan shrank back, more startled than afraid. She'd seen scarier weapons than that, and the sound they made was silly.

The women in leather dropped their hands to their sides when they recognized Sibyl, bowing their heads respectfully. Sibyl seemed to stand straighter, and when Morgan looked up at her, the smile was gone from her face.

"Our new trainee has arrived," Sibyl said crisply. "Show her to her...quarters. I'll be along shortly to begin her training."

Morgan's eyes widened as the women sheathed their weapons and reached for her arms. She looked back at Sibyl, but the older woman offered no solace, watching stoically as Morgan was dragged away.

***

Her “quarters” amounted to a small, damp cell, empty of furniture or light, save for what little came from the torches in the hall. Morgan looked up at the women holding her arms.

"This is where I'm meant to stay?" she asked disbelievingly. "Even my father gave me better, and he _hates_ me."

The women smirked at one another, then one of them shoved Morgan into the cell, slamming the gate closed. Morgan landed hard on the rough stone, skinning her knees and hands. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fell to the side, clutching her throbbing knees. Eventually, she managed to curl up against the wall, cradling her injured hands as she leaned her head back, watching the torchlight throw menacing shadows on the wall of her cell.

***

Morgan didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the gate to her cell finally swung open. The woman who stepped inside looked nothing like the kindly nun who had greeted her in the courtyard. She was outfitted in the same skintight red leather Morgan had seen on the other women, and her dark hair, streaked with grey, was pulled into a tight braid.

“Sibyl?” Morgan asked in a small voice.

“You may call me Mistress Sibyl, or simply Mistress.” The woman replied sharply. Her expression was as hard and cold as the stone floor Morgan was curled up on. “Get up. It's time to begin your training.”

Morgan peered up at her with wary eyes. “I want to go home.”

Mistress Sibyl smirked down at her, and Morgan shrank further into herself at the chill in the grey eyes. “Your _home_ doesn't want you.” She stepped closer, until she towered over the child. “This is your home now.”

A tear slid down Morgan's face, and she wiped at it with a scraped hand. “I don't want to live here,” she sniffled. “I don't like it here.”

Sibyl sank down to one knee, her smile as close to genuine as Morgan had seen since she entered. “Oh, but you will.” Her eyes shone with anticipation. “You will learn to love it here, Morgan. I'm going to make you strong.”

Morgan's chin trembled as she stared back at the woman. Tendrils of fear spidered out from her chest, settling into a heavy weight in her stomach.

Mistress Sibyl just smiled wider.


	2. Chapter 2

It hurt. Morgan had been at the temple – she'd learned that's what it was called, not a nunnery, though she still didn't know why – for weeks, and all she knew anymore was pain. The red sticks – agiels – were a lot scarier than they looked, and it got to where she wanted to cry just looking at one.

Of course, they didn't give her a lot of time to examine the weapons; they were usually too busy using them on her. She didn't even know when the sun was up anymore, because they'd kept her underground ever since she arrived, and they hardly ever let her sleep. They called it training, but she didn't know what she was supposed to be learning how to do.

At least when Mistress Sibyl trained her, she would tell Morgan encouraging things, about how this was going to make her strong, and how she'd be proud to be one of them. Morgan had never heard of a Mord-Sith before she came here, though, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to be one.

Mistress Nyda was training her now, and all she ever talked about was how weak Morgan was, and how she wasn't worthy to serve Lord Rahl. Morgan didn't know who he was, but if Mistress Nyda liked him so much, Morgan hoped she'd never have to meet him.

The Mord-Sith had been training her for hours, never pausing for longer than it took to switch her agiel from one hand to the other. Morgan hurt so bad that she didn't even know why she was still awake. Mistress Nyda's voice faded in and out, and Morgan couldn't make out what she was saying, but she seemed to be getting angrier. It was getting harder to breathe, and Morgan's vision was all blurry.

“Nyda!”

Mistress Sybil's outraged voice pierced through the fog in Morgan's head, and she blinked away the tears in her eyes just in time to see Mistress Nyda holding the agiel right over her heart.

“What can I do for you, Mistress Sybil?” Nyda growled, eyes fixed on Morgan. Sibyl stalked over to her, smacking the agiel out of her hand and shoving the other woman back roughly.

Morgan inhaled a shallow breath, too exhausted to keep her eyes open any longer. She heard the angry voices of the two Mord-Sith as though she were underwater.

 _“What do you think you're doing?”_

 _“Training the child. What does it look like?”_

 _“It looks like you're killing her.”_

 _“That_ is _the point.”_

Morgan felt herself starting to slip into unconsciousness when the chains holding her up suddenly jerked. She whimpered at the sharp pain in her arms.

“Not this one,” Sibyl was saying, almost tenderly. Morgan felt a gloved hand stroke her cheek. “This one is special.”

The last thing Morgan heard before she lost consciousness was the angry stomping of Nyda's boots echoing throughout the chamber as the Mord-Sith stormed away.

***

After that, Mistress Sibyl didn't let anyone else train her. Morgan spent the better part of a year in the same routine: every morning she would wake up to a tin plate being shoved into her cell, usually with nothing more than a crust of stale bread on it. Still, she would devour it as though it was the finest roasted boar ever served at Castle Pendragon. Mistress Sibyl would come fetch her, and train her for most of the day, before delivering her back to her cell for a few hours of fitful sleep.

Finally a day came when Mistress Sibyl declared her ready to leave the dungeons. She looked at Morgan with something almost like affection when she gave her the news, before showing her to a small room connected to her own personal chambers. This was where she would sleep, from now on; close enough to attend her mistress whenever necessary.

She was allowed more time to rest that night, as a reward for her achievement. In the morning, Mistress Sibyl fetched her after breakfast, as usual; but instead of taking her downstairs to the dungeon and training rooms, she led Morgan down a long hallway to a set of stairs that took them up into one of the towers.

Morgan stared in awe at the large room, every wall lined with bookcases that stretched up to the high ceiling. A large, long table sat to one side of the room, with a handful of chairs around it, while the other side was taken up with more rows of shelves filled with books and scrolls. There were more books here than Morgan had ever imagined could exist; certainly more than Uther had allowed her mother to collect at Castle Pendragon.

An agiel pressed into the small of her back, reminding Morgan of where she was. Her wonder at the contents of the room had made her forget herself, and her place. She flinched away from the searing pain, stumbling forward toward the table.

"Sit." Mistress Sybil's voice as hard and cold, as always, but she clearly didn't intend to train Morgan here; there were no chains hanging from the ceiling, no slatted floor to drain away blood and sweat and tears.

Morgan obediently followed the command, sinking down onto one of the stiff wooden chairs and folding her hands in front of her on the table. She did her best to keep her eyes on her hands, but her curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't keep her gaze from straying to the bookshelves.

There was a loud thud as Mistress Sibyl dropped a stack of books on the table, next to her hands. Morgan raised her eyes to the woman, warily making eye contact. "Mistress?"

"You have learned your letters, have you not?" Mistress Sybil asked curtly. Morgan nodded. "Do you recognize any of these books?"

Morgan looked over the stack, turning her head to read the spines. There were titles in Latin, and Greek, and even a couple that had those funny symbols she'd seen in Nathair's book. She nodded slowly, pointing to the ones she knew.

"Good," Mistress Sybil said approvingly, picking up the book at the top of the stack and dropping it in front of Morgan. It was by far the largest of the books, with a gilded cross on the cover. "You will read them all. You will learn them more thoroughly than anything you have ever learned before."

Fidgeting with the cover of the book before her, Morgan nodded hesitantly. "Yes, Mistress."

"Is there a problem?" Mistress Sibyl asked coldly, catching the doubt in Morgan's voice.

"No, Mistress," Morgan hurriedly replied, looking up into unyielding grey eyes. "Only...I know these, the Latin, and the Greek. Mother made sure I learned them." She gestured to the others, the ones with the foreign symbols. "But I don't know what those say."

Mistress Sibyl smirked, almost kindly. "I would not have expected her to teach you High D'Haran, child." She picked up one of the books Morgan had indicated, flipping through it with fleeting interest. "You will learn to read it. There is much knowledge to be gained from these tomes, and you must absorb as much of it as possible."

Morgan's nose scrunched a little with confusion. "Why?"

The kindness that had crept onto Mistress Sibyl's face was gone in an instant, replaced by sharp edges and the promise of violence. "You would question your mistress?"

The girl flinched at the threat in Mistress Sibyl's tone. She shook her head hastily. "No, Mistress. Forgive me, I spoke without thinking."

"Another habit you will need to be broken of," Mistress Sibyl replied sharply, slamming the book she held back onto the stack. She reached for the book in front of Morgan, pulling the cover open. "For now, begin with what you do know."

Morgan nodded, scooting her chair forward and pulling the book to the edge of the table as she began to read.

***

That day marked a change in Morgan's training: in the morning, she would be given her meager breakfast before spending hours in the unforgiving straight-backed chairs. At midday, she would be taken to the dungeons to be trained with the agiel, and Mistress Sibyl would interrogate her about what she had read. Morgan quickly learned to commit to memory every word that passed under her eyes; the pain if she forgot a single phrase was worse than anything Mistress Sibyl had given her before.

Her mistress didn't seem interested in _teaching_ Morgan anything about the books she was reading, at least not yet; she seemed satisfied to know that the raw knowledge was there in Morgan's mind, ready to be drawn on at some later time.

She was eleven when she got the first headache. She was tidying Mistress Sibyl's chambers when the pain seared through her. She collapsed under the weight of it, curling up on the floor and clutching her head as she rocked back and forth. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, not even when Mistress Nyda had trained her.

When Mistress Sybil returned to her chambers, Morgan was almost unconscious from the pain. She heard her mistress rush over, felt a gloved hand on her neck checking for signs of life. Then she was pulled into Mistress Sibyl's arms, being rocked as her mistress murmured encouraging words into her hair.

Her eyes drifted open as the pain began to subside, and she looked up blearily. "I'm sorry, Mistress," she said weakly. "I was going to have your chambers ready for you. I failed you."

Mistress Sibyl just smiled, that familiar eager glint in her eyes as she wiped at Morgan's cheeks. Her gloved fingers came away glistening.

Morgan raised her hand to wipe her nose; when she pulled it away, her fingers were stained with blood.

***

The headaches got steadily worse, and Mistress Sybil trained her longer and more often, assuring her that it would help her to withstand the pain. The training began to take a different tone; there was less emphasis on obeying and serving Lord Rahl, and more on becoming powerful. Over the next year, Morgan grew more confident, slowly building an identity for herself that was more than just attending to her mistress.

Mistress Sibyl watched the transformation with rapt interest. Every step Morgan took toward becoming a sister of the agiel seemed to add to the woman's barely-concealed excitement. Her pride in Morgan made the pain of the headaches easier to bear, far more than being trained with the agiel did. Eventually, Morgan became sure enough of herself to begin asking questions.

"Why do the other girls look at me the way they do?" she asked one day when Mistress Sibyl came to fetch her for training. "I hear them talking. They say I'm not a real Mord-Sith."

The older woman tutted, stepping closer to rest her hands on Morgan's shoulders. "They are no more Mord-Sith than you," she scoffed. "Not one of them has earned her agiel yet." Her eyes glittered as they pierced Morgan's. "But you, Morgan - you are destined to be far greater than a mere Mord-Sith. I can only hope that the training I provide will be of some small help to you."

Morgan frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. Mistress Sibyl's hands were clammy and warm through the thin shift Morgan wore - the mark of a servant of the temple. "What am I destined for?"

"Child," Mistress Sibyl began, fervor creeping into her solemn tone. "You are destined to rule."

***

Her mistress' words echoed in her mind, joining the wisdom of Cicero and Seneca and countless others whose names fixed themselves in Morgan's mind. She took them to heart, held onto them when the other girls her age sneered at her and mocked her. But there came a day when she could no longer hold her tongue.

"Oh, look, it's Mistress Sibyl's lapdog," one of them said as Morgan entered the dining hall. Triana was older than Morgan, maybe fourteen or fifteen, with a long dark braid and cruel features. It was rumored around the temple that she was to travel to the People's Palace soon, to be presented with her agiel. "Did your mistress decide her floor didn't need scrubbing after all?"

Morgan glared at the older girl, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Watch what you say, Triana," she warned arrogantly. "You will come to regret it when I am the one giving you orders."

Triana's lips twisted into a vicious smirk. "The only one I'll be taking orders from is Lord Rahl," she said coolly. "You know, the man we're all sworn to serve? Or have you not gotten that far in your training yet?"

The other girls around Triana all snickered, their eyes alight with malicious amusement. Morgan clenched her jaw, her lip curling angrily as she stepped closer to the older girl. "I will remember this, _sister_. You will pay for your disrespect."

"Ooh, are you going to punish me?" Triana stood, peering disdainfully down at Morgan as her mocking laughter rang in Morgan's ears. "You're nothing more than a glorified slave."

Morgan's fist flew up as quick as lightning, striking Triana's face in a forceful backhanded blow. Triana's eyes blazed with rage as she brought her hand up to her cheek, her fingers coming away wet with blood. Her other hand shot out to grab Morgan's arm in a bruising grip.

"It looks like someone could use some _real_ training, instead of being coddled by an old woman long past her prime."

"Triana!" Mistress Sibyl's voice boomed harshly throughout the hall. The other girls in the hall looked back down at their plates, their derision retreating behind the deeply-ingrained respect for their betters. Triana nearly growled as she turned her eyes to the older woman.

"The little brat hit me!" Triana said indignantly, roughly jerking Morgan by the arm. Mistress Sibyl stalked over to them, eyeing Triana's cheek.

"Didn't do a bad job, either," she said drily. "Release the child. I'll see to it that she's punished for her insolence."

Triana's nostrils flared angrily as a response jumped to her lips, but Mistress Sibyl cut her off with a sharp glare. With a huff, Triana shoved Morgan away from her before storming out of the hall.

***

Morgan's arm barely had a chance to recover before Mistress Sibyl grabbed it, dragging her out of the hall and up to her chambers. Once there, she released her, all but throwing her into the room.

"How dare you?" the older woman snapped sharply. "I've taught you better than to attack your superiors!"

Morgan stared back defiantly, rubbing at the tender flesh of her arm. Finger-shaped marks reddened on her skin; later, they would turn an angry purple. "You told me I was better than all of them."

Her mistress stepped closer, eyes dangerously cold. "What I told you was that you _will_ be better than them. _If_ you do as you're told. Which does not include starting fights in the dining hall."

"I'm not the one who started it," Morgan protested, almost pouting. Mistress Sibyl's hand shot out to grip her chin, holding her firmly in place.

"You made the choice to continue it," the older woman began. Her next words died on her lips as Morgan's face contorted with pain.

Morgan sank to her knees, hands clutching at her head. Sibyl's anger drained out of her as she watched Morgan rock back and forth on the floor.

"Oh, child." She reached out to rest a soothing hand on the girl's shoulder, but Morgan's head shot up, her eyes blazing with fury as they welled up with blood.

"Don't touch me!" she snarled, her voice tight with agony. "You keep promising to make me strong. If that is what your training is for, then why does this continue to happen?"

"Morgan," Sibyl tutted sympathetically. There was a mysterious glint in her eyes, hinting at some hidden knowledge she neglected to share. "To become strong, you must first allow yourself to be weak. The headaches will abate as you learn to withstand the pain."

"I'm finished being weak." Morgan scrambled to her feet, wiping the blood from her face. Her head was still throbbing sharply, but she forced herself to ignore the pain. Sybil stepped toward her, and she backed away, cocking her head in warning. "Don't come near me."

It came out as a command, and Sibyl stopped in her tracks, looking pained. Morgan narrowed her eyes, keeping them pinned on the older woman as she stumbled backward toward her room. Once inside, she collapsed on the small cot, bringing her knees up to her chest and clutching her head as the pain flooded her senses.

***

When Morgan woke, it was to bright rays of morning light creeping into her cell. A shadow fell over her face as her eyes drifted open, landing on the stiff form of Mistress Sybil standing in the doorway. For an instant, there was a hesitance in the older woman that Morgan hadn't seen before. The Mord-Sith quickly recovered, her features sharp and unyielding.

"Get out of bed," Sibyl said curtly. "You will not be getting out of any more training, no matter how much your head may hurt."

Morgan pushed herself to a sitting position, biting back a groan at the dull throb behind her eyes. It did no good; Mistress Sybil caught Morgan's wince, the twitch of her fingers that gave away her desire to bring her hand to her head.

Sibyl pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing as she peered at Morgan. "You so easily show signs of weakness,” she said haughtily. “Clearly I've been going too easy on you. Get up,” she snapped again, harsher than before. “We will skip breakfast this morning; it's obvious you need training more than food.”

There was no need to dress, as she had fallen asleep in her clothing the night before, so Morgan dragged herself out of bed, dutifully following her mistress down the winding stone corridors. At one intersection near to the entrance of the temple, the pair came across a group of Mord-Sith, packed and ready for travel. Triana was among them, her new leathers stiff and gleaming as they clung to her developing curves. She turned to pierce Morgan with a hateful glare, and the younger girl had to fight back a smile as she saw the angry purpling bruise that covered the right side of Triana's face.

Morgan lost the fight as Triana turned to follow her elders out of the temple. Her lips curled into a vindictive smile at the thought of Triana looking less than perfect when being presented to her beloved Lord Rahl.

"Morgan!" Mistress Sibyl snapped, tearing Morgan from her fantasies. Pushing the satisfying images to the back of her mind for later savoring, Morgan rushed to catch up to Sibyl. Her head was suddenly feeling much better.


	3. Chapter 3

“These men are fools!” Morgan proclaimed exasperatedly, slamming the book closed with a loud thud. It was the same book Sibyl had set in front of her years ago, the one with the gilded cross on the cover.

Sibyl concealed a satisfied smile. “Why do you say that, Morgan?”

“They simply _let_ themselves be guided by the whims of some magical being that claims to be omnipotent,” Morgan sneered disdainfully. “A true man would make his own destiny."

“Ah, but child, that is the most important lesson you will ever learn.” Now Sibyl let the smile come out, as she sank down into the chair next to Morgan. “Men are fools. Easily guided. Your task as a woman and as a Mord-Sith is to bend them to suit your own purposes."

Morgan looked over at the Mord-Sith, arms crossed over her chest. “I could have learned _that_ without suffering through that drivel. An hour in the training rooms simply _watching_ you work is sufficient to demonstrate the concept.”

The breaking of men was not as common an occurrence here as it was with the more popular temples, like Jandralyn or the People's Palace, but it was done. Over the past few months, Sibyl had begun allowing Morgan to observe from time to time, to demonstrate the many frailties of man, the intricacies of the human mind. It was not a privilege usually granted to a trainee until they had earned their leathers; until they had sufficiently proven their loyalty to Lord Rahl. It was just one more reason Morgan was shunned by her sisters.

“You are meant for more than mere torture, Morgan,” Sibyl responded, her eyes taking on that familiar gleam. “If you are to rule a people, you must understand them – understand what makes them believe as they do, and understand how to use it to control them.”

Morgan scoffed. “The people of Britain are sheep. They are not concerned with what their ruler knows, only that he is of the proper bloodline.” She shrugged dismissively. “Since my father has yet to produce a male heir, I am the only logical choice.”

Sibyl's face grew hard to read, then; some hidden knowledge glimmered behind the stoic mask of the Mord-Sith, and Morgan's eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher it.

Before the girl could say anything, Sibyl rose briskly from her seat. “Come, it is time to return to my chambers.”

***

It happened once a year, in the fall; Morgan's training was cut short, and she was taken to her chambers before dark. Sibyl would leave for most of the night, only returning when the first tendrils of light were creeping through the stained-glass windows. She never said what she was doing, or why this particular night was significant; a Mord-Sith was not required to explain herself to her subordinates.

That didn't mean Morgan wasn't curious, though, and with her growing self-confidence came an arrogance that swiftly overcame her hesitance to question her Mistress. The year that Morgan turned fourteen, she no longer felt the need to hold her tongue.

When Sibyl escorted her to her chambers, leaving orders to tidy the rooms and finish reading her latest assignment – this one was some obscure D'Haran philosopher with interesting ideas about the value of pain – Morgan called after her before she could leave.

“Where do you go?”

Sibyl tensed, looking stiffly back over her shoulder. “It is none of your concern, child. Do as you're told.”

Morgan stepped forward, grabbing Sibyl's arm to keep her from leaving. Her bare hand contrasted starkly with the crimson leather, and a conflicted look came over the Mord-Sith's face as she looked down at her arm. Morgan noted it with interest.

“Tell me.” The order was a gamble; her Mistress had been growing more and more reluctant to punish her for her transgressions, but such blatant insubordination still carried risk.

Instead of lashing out, however, Sibyl stiffened further, as though battling some invisible force within her. Finally she stepped forward, closing the door securely before turning, a look of pained resignation on her features.

“A chamber, deep in the heart of the dungeon. The presiding Lord Rahl has a unique relationship with the Keeper of the Underworld,” Sibyl explained quietly. “He has told us only what we need to know; that the Keeper offers him power in exchange for certain...offerings.”

“So you disappear once a year to sacrifice people to the Keeper?” Morgan asked skeptically. “That hardly seems worthy of such secrecy.”

Sibyl's hand tightened unconsciously around her agiel. “It is more complicated than that, Morgan. The Keeper does not ask that we take lives; he requires vessels,” she continued reluctantly. “We offer him the girls who don't have what it takes to become Mord-Sith. Every year he chooses one girl, imbues her with his power so that she may serve him in the world of the living.”

“Power?” Morgan's eyes gleamed with interest.

“It is not what you think, child,” Sibyl warned, her tone deathly serious. “The girls chosen by the Keeper are given dark magic – magic that is not meant to be combined with that of a Mord-Sith. It matters not that they have not earned their agiels, that they are not yet true Mord-Sith – they have had enough of our power beaten into them that the magic granted by the Keeper cannot fully take hold in them. The two forces battle within them, and they die. Most within mere months.”

“That doesn't sound like a very profitable arrangement for him,” Morgan mused absently, her mind still focused on the promise of power.

Sibyl stepped forward, her voice taking on a pleading tone as she rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. “The Keeper cares little for how long they live; he will have their service, whether in this world or the Underworld. But you are meant for much greater things!”

Morgan smirked, shrugging Sibyl's hands off of her. “So you keep telling me. But how am I meant to achieve these greater things if I am constantly plagued by debilitating headaches? Surely the power the Keeper would grant me would be sufficient to rid myself of them.”

The older woman sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “The headaches are themselves caused by magic,” she admitted with some difficulty.

“I have magic?” Morgan asked, pinning Sibyl with a cold, accusing gaze. “And you never told me?”

“Your training is the only thing that's kept your power under control,” Sibyl elaborated. “Otherwise the pain of the headaches would have killed you already.”

Raising an eyebrow, Morgan smirked. “And I am supposed to trust that you are telling me the truth, even though you have lied to me for this long?”

Closing her eyes and returning her hand to her agiel, Sibyl gathered her strength. “Morgan, you will not be offered to the Keeper. I will not allow it.”

“Yes, you will.” Morgan's voice was almost the cold steel of a Mord-Sith, and Sibyl would have been proud were it not for the circumstances. Morgan lunged past her toward the door, and Sibyl caught her arm in a tight grip.

“No, Morgan, I will not,” Sibyl said with some effort, shoving the girl away from her. She was still the stronger and more skilled of the two of them, and Morgan stumbled back against Sibyl's bed. The distance allowed the Mord-Sith enough time to slip through the door, slamming it shut behind her. As she turned her key in the lock outside, Sibyl let out a quiet sigh of relief, as though a great pressure had been lifted from her chest.

***

Morgan was not so easy to deter. Once Sibyl's footsteps faded into silence, the girl was hard at work. The knowledge had lingered unused at the back of her mind for years, but she had never forgotten how she used to slip out of her room at night to curl up with her mother. Uther had taken to locking her in for the night, so Morgan had been forced to teach herself how to pick the lock. After her mother was killed, it became a subtle form of defiance; it drove Uther mad to lock her in every night, only to come to fetch her in the morning and find the door wide open.

The Mord-Sith brushed their hair with harsh brushes – the bristles long and stiff and made of metal. Morgan pried two loose now, yanking them out of the wooden base before making quick work of the lock on the door. While Morgan had never seen the chamber Sibyl had spoken of, she could have made her way to the dungeon in her sleep.

The dungeon was eerily quiet tonight; there were no screams of agony echoing through the stone halls, none of the familiar slaps and thuds and sharp cries that indicated training. It made it all the easier to follow the distant sounds of chanting.

Green light flickered inside the chamber, casting a sickly glow into the hall outside. Morgan heard a deep, unearthly voice booming within, and eagerly slipped inside.

She froze in the doorway as she looked into the room. There were five girls standing in a circle in the middle of the massive chamber, their faces filled with fear as green flames rose before them. Apart from Sybil, there were only three other Mord-Sith in the room, standing well apart from the circle.

Sibyl was the closest to the doorway, and she snapped her head around, eyes wide. “Morgan!” She hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I don't believe I would have been born with this power only to be killed by it,” she replied cockily. “If the Keeper chooses to grant me his magic, it can only serve to strengthen me.”

The older woman looked almost frantic as the disembodied voice fell silent. “Child, your arrogance will be your undoing. Get out now while you still can!”

“Who disturbs my ritual?” The Keeper's voice echoed through the chamber.

Morgan threw her shoulders back, straightening proudly. “Morgan Pendragon. I have come to offer myself as a vessel for your power.”

The Keeper laughed - an unsettling sound. “It has been a long time since I had a willing sacrifice.”

There was silence then, and a feeling that she was being examined from the inside out; it made her skin crawl, but she stood firm and unwavering.

The next thing Morgan knew was pain, greater than any she had been subjected to in her time at the temple. Her blood boiled in her veins, and sharp blades of agony stabbed into her muscles, deep into her very bones. It felt as though she were on fire; if she had been able to open her eyes, she would have seen the green flames dancing over her body.

When it was over, though, her mind was clearer than it had ever been, and she could feel power surging through her, sparking from her skin. She would not be having any more headaches.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairing: Cara/Dahlia (Non-Explicit)

The People's Palace was every bit as imposing as Morgan had been told. It was massive, far larger than the temple she called home. Its winding hallways and large, echoing chambers were daunting in both size and number.

Lord Rahl, on the other hand, was not quite so impressive. He swept into the room, red velvet robes swirling at his feet as he paced down the line of girls ready to be declared worthy of their agiels. His fingers slid over his lips as he appraised them all with a critical eye. From the way the other Mord-Sith talked about him, Morgan had expected something almost more than human, but the undisguised lust in his leering grey eyes proved him to be every bit a man, no more impressive than the pets she'd been allowed to assist Mistress Sibyl in training.

Following behind him was an eager young Mord-Sith with a cruel glint in her blue eyes and a long braid so blonde it was nearly white. She kept a hand firmly on the agiel at her side as she shadowed Lord Rahl. Morgan raised her chin proudly as they came to a stop before her.

"This one is older than the others," Darken Rahl commented, raking his eyes over Morgan's leather-clad frame. Morgan stiffened almost imperceptibly; she was seventeen, and well aware that the rest of the girls she'd arrived with were at least two years younger than her.

"My lord, Morgan's training was more complex than that of the other girls," Mistress Sibyl explained from her position at the head of the line. "But I assure you, it was well worth it. She will make you proud."

"We shall see about that," Darken mused, not bothering to look at the older woman. His tongue flicked out to moisten his finger as he slid it over his bottom lip, fixing his gaze on Morgan's eyes.

"I suppose every girl has her use, my lord," the blonde beside him said coolly. "Even the slow ones."

Darken smiled almost fondly at the girl. "Now, Denna, be nice. Not everyone can be as precocious as you."

Denna smirked, her fingers trailing seductively over the handle of her agiel. "Yes, my lord." Her eyes were cold as she dragged them over Morgan, who bit her tongue to keep from forcibly removing the smug expression from the blonde's face. Denna may have been younger than Morgan, may have earned her agiel sooner, but Morgan had advantages that the blonde could only dream of.

Fortunately, Morgan did not have to endure the scrutiny long. Lord Rahl was a busy man, and quickly moved on to examine the other girls. When he was satisfied with his evaluation, the ceremony began.

The ceremony itself was torture of a different kind; Lord Rahl seemed to be enamored with the sound of his own voice, and prattled on about honor and loyalty and service. Morgan kept her jaw clenched through most of it, relieved when the agiel was finally placed in her hand. The pain sparked into her hand through the leather of her glove, and she squeezed the weapon tightly, savoring the ache. It centered her, made her whole, and not even Denna's critical glare or Lord Rahl's droning voice could tarnish the pride she felt in her accomplishment.

Morgan Pendragon was no longer. She was Mistress Morgan now.

***

"Well, look who finally caught up."

Morgan snapped her head around, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on the woman who had spoken. The olive-skinned Mord-Sith stood in the doorway to the baths, glaring at Morgan as she passed by. "Constance," Morgan sneered, her hand drifting to her agiel. "Clearly two years as a sister of the agiel has taught you nothing of loyalty or respect."

Constance's upper lip curled as she pushed off of the door frame, stepping into Morgan's personal space. "I have the utmost respect for my sisters. At least, those who have _earned_ their title," she spat.

"Whether you approve or not, Constance, I _am_ Mord-Sith now." Morgan's gloved hand shot out to grab the shorter woman's chin. "You will speak to me with respect, or you will come to regret it."

Constance opened her mouth to respond, but Morgan's eyes flashed dangerously, stopping the words in her throat. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she shrank away from the ferocity of Morgan's gaze. "Yes, Mistress Morgan," she ground out reluctantly.

A satisfied grin spread across Morgan's lips at the horrified look on the other woman's face. She released Constance's chin, patting her on the cheek. "Well done. There may be hope for you yet."

Morgan stepped away from Constance, a swagger to her step as she walked off in the direction of the dungeons. Down the hall, Mistress Nyda watched with a growing feeling of unease.

***

"Lord Rahl."

"What is it, Egremont?" Darken said, rolling his eyes in irritation as he yanked Denna's head away from his lap and rearranged his robes. The Mord-Sith did not look pleased at the interruption as she sat back on her heels, drawing a gloved hand across her lips.

"My apologies, Lord Rahl, but you've received a message from Mistress Nyda. She claims it's quite urgent." The older man approached hesitantly, holding out the journey book. Darken took it from his hands, his eyes flicking over the rows of symbols.

"It appears Mistress Morgan is causing quite a stir," he said, stroking his lower lip with his index finger. His mouth twisted into a bemused smile. "Mistress Nyda is concerned that she is gaining undue influence over her sisters." Slamming the book shut, he handed it back to Egremont. "Send word back to her. Morgan is to be sent to the temple at Jandralyn. Mistress Cara will surely put her in her place."

"My lord." Egremont nodded, tucking the book under his arm as he turned and left the room. Darken turned back to Denna, who smirked before leaning forward to return to her duties.

***

Mistress Cara's lips curled up in amusement as she read the message in the journey book. "It appears my skills are needed once more," she drawled, tapping a gloved finger on the page. She raised her eyes to Mistress Dahlia's as she elaborated. "Lord Rahl is sending another troublesome recruit to me for training."

A small smirk toyed at Dahlia's mouth as she sauntered closer to where Cara sat. She reached for the journey book, plucking it out of Cara's hands and placing it on the table next to Cara's chair. "Your skills are without rival," Dahlia purred, straddling Cara's lap and winding her arms around the blonde's neck. She leaned forward, her voice lowering as she murmured into Cara's ear. "Allow me to demonstrate my appreciation, Mistress."

A hungry grin spread across Cara's mouth, and she lunged forward, claiming Dahlia's lips in a bruising kiss. The journey book lay forgotten on the table as Cara's hands slid possessively over Dahlia's hips.

Thoughts of training a wayward Mord-Sith were far from Cara's mind. There were far more entertaining things demanding her attention at the moment.

***

"Morgan."

The voice reverberated in her head, sounding at once like a man and something more, something darker. Morgan knew it immediately, though he had not spoken to her since the night of the ritual, years ago. She opened her eyes to find herself in her cell, but somehow she knew she wasn't awake.

“I have a task for you.”

As he detailed his plans for her, the wary look on Morgan's face slowly grew into a sinister smile. Serving the Keeper was going to be easier than she'd expected.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairing: Cara/Dahlia/Morgan
> 
> Chapter Warning: Dub-Con

The temple at Jandralyn was vastly different from the temple where Morgan had been trained. It stood as a single tower, jutting proudly toward the sky, undoubtedly with floors upon floors of dungeons stretching deep into the earth. Morgan's eyes scanned over everything, taking it all in as she stepped into the entrance hall, flanked by two older Mord-Sith who were watching her carefully.

A pair of Mord-Sith stood at the other end of the hall, one standing behind and off to the side, in clear deference to the other. The blonde in front had her arms crossed over her chest as she watched Morgan approach. Her full lips were turned up in the barest hint of an arrogant smirk as Morgan stopped in front of her.

"My name is Mistress Cara," she drawled, her voice somehow a seduction and a threat all at once. "But you can call me Mistress."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms in a mirror image of Cara. "Perhaps. When you have proven to me that you are worthy of the title."

Cara's expression hardened, emerald eyes narrowing as they fixed on Morgan's grey. "I don't think you understand who exactly is in charge here," she said through her teeth, the fingers of her right hand flexing as she took a step toward Morgan. "Allow me to educate you."

"Stop." Morgan's voice rang out sharply as Cara raised a gloved fist, and the movement ceased abruptly. Confusion clouded Cara's eyes as she looked at her hand. "Don't you dare," Morgan warned as Cara geared up to deliver the blow. She felt the power tingling under her skin, pooling in the pit of her stomach, and the strained look in Cara's eyes made it obvious that she felt it too.

With a wary glance at the Mord-Sith on either side of Morgan, Cara set her jaw and swung her fist, backhanding Morgan hard across the jaw. Pain flashed through the blonde's eyes, but the soft grunt that sounded low in her throat was the only outward indication that the action had affected her.

"The only person I take orders from is Lord Rahl," Cara said dangerously, her eyes running down Morgan's body, then back up to her face. "And you are no Lord Rahl."

Morgan smirked, even as she brought a hand up to rub at her jaw. Cara's eyes were filled with a delicious combination of shock, humiliation and fury.

"Dahlia, show our guests to the baths," she ground out.

The Mord-Sith behind her nodded to those on either side of Morgan, and they stepped away, following her toward a door at the back of the room. Dahlia paused in the doorway, turning to glance back at Cara and Morgan, her brow creased with the tiniest hint of worry.

Cara sneered as she pierced Morgan with her gaze, her hand shooting out to grip Morgan's arm tightly enough to bruise. "We'll continue your lesson in my chambers."

***

Cara all but threw Morgan into her personal chambers. Morgan swung back around, amusement curling her lips as she quickly regained her balance. Cara stalked over to her, reaching up to grasp the strap holding Morgan's neck-guard to her corset. She was torn between demanding answers and beating Morgan senseless for her insolence. Given her negligible success with violence moments before, Cara opted for the former choice.

"I don't know what you just did to me out there," she growled. "But it stops now. This is _my_ temple, and you will submit to _my_ authority."

Morgan just smiled. "Lord Rahl may have ordered me sent here to bring me to heel, but he has no idea who he's dealing with. Neither do you," she said arrogantly.

"Defying Lord Rahl is treason," Cara said, eyes flashing as she used her grip on Morgan's leathers to shove her back against the desk.

"Defying me is worse." Morgan smirked, bringing her hand up to pluck Cara's fingers from her leathers. Cara's eyes widened as she watched it happen, torn between her inherent desire to resist and the foreign power she felt in her very blood telling her to submit. "I know you feel it. I can see it in your eyes."

Cara scoffed. "You see nothing." It was magic; it had to be magic, to make her lose control of her own actions. Cara reached deep within herself, pulling at the powers that had been painstakingly beaten into her and directing them outward. If it was magic, it could be deflected.

Still smiling, Morgan pushed at Cara's shoulder. Cara stepped back, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. It wasn't working; whatever power Morgan had, Mord-Sith magic had no effect on it.

"I see how badly you want to resist me," Morgan purred, stepping around Cara to murmur in her ear. "You want to chain me up and beat me, torture me until I bend to your will."

Cara drew a shaky breath. As much as the woman enraged her, she had a point. Cara's very muscles ached with the hunger for violence.

"But you cannot," Morgan said smugly, resting her hands on Cara's shoulders. "Because I do not wish it."

"What magic is this?" Cara demanded through gritted teeth.

Morgan chuckled, sliding back around Cara to meet her eyes. "I don't think you are in a position to be asking questions," she pointed out, sliding gloved fingers down Cara's leather-sheathed arm. She took Cara's hand in hers, opening the clenched fist and holding it still under her gaze. "Strong hands," she observed.

"Strong enough to crush your throat," Cara said, the threat in her tone undermined by the slackness of her hand resting in Morgan's palms.

"I had something less violent in mind," Morgan replied. She released Cara's hand, stepping back to sink down into the low-backed chair next to Cara's desk. Cara stiffened impossibly further as Morgan leaned back, crossing her legs as her eyes ran up and down the length of Cara's form. "I have had a long journey," Morgan said airily. "My muscles are stiff from the ride. Come over here and massage my shoulders."

Cara inhaled, biting the inside of her cheek to contain her fury. "I think you've mistaken me for a slave," she ground out.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Are you refusing me?" She looked more amused than angry. "And here I thought you had learned your lesson."

The power tugged insistently at Cara; her muscles burned with the urge to obey, but she stubbornly willed her body to resist. The tight tension that resulted was almost painful, and not in the way that Cara was used to. She knew pain, intimately; every flavor of it, from the subtle and creeping to the sharp and searing. This pain was something altogether different from anything she had ever felt. Given time, though, she was sure she could figure out how to overcome it.

Unfortunately, time was something Cara did not have at the moment. She knew what was at stake here; if she submitted to Morgan now, even in the relative privacy of her chambers, her position in this temple was as good as forfeit. She needed to find a way to regain the upper hand, and quickly.

"What, no clever riposte?" Morgan smirked, her eyes lazily tracing the stiff lines of Cara's body under the red leather. "I wouldn't have thought your tongue would tire so quickly."

The first hints of a smile pulled at the corners of Cara's mouth. An idea was beginning to form in her mind, fueled by the spark of lust growing in Morgan's eyes. Cara was proud of her body, and with good reason; she had seen many a man - and woman - rendered weak-kneed and speechless by the sleek lines and supple curves accentuated by the skintight leather of her uniform.

She had even more confidence in her skills. While Mord-Sith were trained primarily for violence, they were not uneducated in the art of pleasure, and Cara had always excelled at those particular lessons. There was little doubt in her mind that her considerable talents could bend Morgan to her will. If she worked quickly, the rest of the temple would be none the wiser. But she would have to be careful.

"I've never had any complaints about my stamina." Cara's voice rumbled low in her throat, somewhere between seductive and defiant. She took a step toward Morgan, her eyebrow arching in challenge. "But I thought it was my hands you were interested in."

Grey eyes darkened as they considered the hands in question, then flicked up to full red lips. "Why should I feel the need to choose?"

Cara scoffed. " _You_ shouldn't. The only option you have right now is to stop whatever game you're playing and submit to me," she growled, stepping closer until she towered over the seated woman.

Morgan uncrossed her legs, slowly rising to her feet. The action put her barely a handsbreadth away from Cara. "And what will you do if I don't?" she challenged, an arrogant smile on her lips. "Strike me again? I think we both know how that will turn out for you."

Cara clenched her jaw, even as she artfully softened the look in her eyes, managing all at once to look helpless and not at all happy about it. She loosened her posture, projecting defeat from the slump of her shoulders and the slight downward tilt of her head. Each detail was designed to play to the other woman's inflated ego. Judging by the smug look in Morgan's eyes, it appeared to be working.

"Such defiance," Morgan murmured, her voice hinting at admiration as she ran a gloved finger along the hard line of Cara's jaw. "Your energy could be much better spent."

Sliding her hand to the back of Cara's neck, Morgan slowly leaned in, deliberately pressing her lips to the blonde's. Cara was stiff and unresponsive, which only served to feed Morgan's desire - as Cara knew it would. Morgan gripped Cara's neck firmly, biting at full lips before forcing her tongue into Cara's mouth.

Cara fought to contain the smug satisfaction that rose in her chest as she felt Morgan growing more insistent. When a soft grunt escaped the woman's throat, Cara finally relented, sliding her tongue against Morgan's. It tasted like victory.

Morgan smirked into Cara's mouth, nipping at her full lower lip before she withdrew. Licking her own lips, Morgan fixed her eyes on Cara's.

"Undress me," Morgan directed, slowly turning around and pulling her braid forward to grant Cara access to the lacing of her neck-guard. Cara's lips twisted victoriously as she obliged.

Even encumbered by her thick leather gloves, Cara's fingers knew their way around a Mord-Sith's leathers. Within minutes, she had unlaced Morgan to the waist, neck-guard and corset discarded in favor of peeling the leather away from the woman's body. Cara raked her eyes over Morgan's back, appreciating the subtle play of muscles under smooth, pale skin as Morgan slid the leather over her hips.

Morgan turned and sank back down onto the chair, looking up at Cara expectantly. Cara clenched her jaw, steeling herself to play the role she had committed herself to. She knelt before Morgan, yanking off the woman's boots before slipping the leathers over her bare feet. With her legs freed, Morgan leaned back in her seat, letting her thighs fall open.

Cara let her gaze drift up Morgan's body, over the smoothly curved hips, flat stomach, full breasts topped with hardened nipples. She had to admit, Morgan's body was exquisite. If the woman were not so insistent on exerting her dominance, Cara could easily see herself indulging in the pleasures this body surely had to offer.

"Your eyes are not likely to please me," Morgan said drily, quirking an eyebrow. "I thought you were confident in your abilities?"

Green eyes flashed with irritation at the challenge, but Cara suppressed the urge to drag Morgan to the floor and demonstrate the full extent of her skills. Instead, a predatory smile touched her lips as she moved between Morgan's legs, gloved hands sliding up the inside of smooth thighs. As her fingers crept closer to the apex of Morgan's thighs, her wrists were caught in a bruising grip.

"You may yet earn the right to touch me," Morgan granted, steel underlying her tone. "But for now, your mouth will be sufficient. Keep your hands behind your back until I ask for them."

Cara gritted her teeth, inhaling deeply to calm herself as Morgan released her hands. She slid them behind her back as directed, her right hand closing around her left wrist tightly as she glared up at Morgan. Leaning forward, she slid her tongue up the length of Morgan's sex, the thick tang of arousal filling her mouth.

"Yes," Morgan moaned approvingly, gripping an arm of the chair with one hand while the other reached up to close around the base of Cara's braid. A low growl sounded in the blonde's throat, and she lunged forward, pulling Morgan's clit into her mouth and biting down harder than strictly necessary.

If she'd intended to punish Morgan for her humiliation, she had chosen the wrong way to go about it. Morgan let out a deep, wanton groan at the rough attention, and the hand at the back of Cara's head pressed harder. It mattered little to Cara. If that was how Morgan liked it, she would gladly oblige. She scraped her teeth over Morgan's flesh, sucking hard at the sensitive nub. Morgan moaned her approval, her nails digging into Cara's scalp as they pulled at her head, her hips arching into Cara's mouth.

Cara was almost able to forget the compromising position she found herself in, could almost lose herself in the taste and smell and feel of Morgan's sex under her tongue. This had always been one of her favorite activities, rivaling even the satisfaction she took from interrogating Lord Rahl's enemies. As long as no one else was here to witness it, Cara felt justified in taking some small amount of enjoyment from this.

"Cara?" A soft gasp from the doorway alerted her to the fact that she was no longer unobserved, and Cara released Morgan's flesh with a wet pop. Her pulse pounded in her ears as her cheeks burned red. To protect her pride, she would gladly kill anyone who dared catch her like this; anyone, that is, except for the one person who had managed to do so.

"Leave, Dahlia," Cara said through her teeth, her eyes slamming shut as though she could make the other woman disappear by force of will alone.

The hand around her braid tightened, pushed hard against her head. "I don't recall telling you to stop," Morgan growled. Cara felt the strange power flare in her again, tightening in her belly, and she lowered her head back to Morgan's sex, silently willing Dahlia to heed her order. Boots scuffed against the floor at the doorway, and for an instant Cara thought that her request was being granted.

But Morgan was not willing to let Cara win even this small victory.

"No." Morgan's voice was firm, and Cara's eyes shot up to look at the woman without pausing in her ministrations. An arrogant smirk touched the corners of Morgan's mouth. "Dahlia, stay." Morgan's body shifted under Cara's mouth as she gestured grandly to the woman kneeling before her. "Join us. Cara has been most welcoming," Morgan said smoothly, looking down at the blonde head bobbing between her legs, green eyes glaring up at her. She hissed as Cara's teeth closed around her flesh once more. "She is entitled to a reward."

There was a strangled whimper, and the sound of hesitant footsteps as Dahlia moved closer. Cara's eyes widened in shock and fury; even without looking at her sister Mord-Sith, she knew that whatever power Morgan had, it was working on Dahlia as well. Then Dahlia's hands were resting on her arched back, sliding down to clasp her hands.

"Come now, Dahlia," Morgan tutted, her voice thickening as she held Cara's mouth firmly at her sex. "Your sister is doing such an admirable job. Surely she deserves more than childish hand-holding?" Her hand flexed against Cara's scalp as she arched her hips against teeth and tongue. "Undress her," she ordered.

Cara heard the deepening of Morgan's tone, felt strong thighs begin to tremble against her cheeks, and pushed aside her indignant anger. If - no, _when_ this worked, Morgan would be punished for her insolence. Dahlia would be easy enough to bring back in line once Cara had reasserted her position.

Dahlia leaned forward, murmuring into Cara's ear as she began to work at the laces of her neck-guard. "I don't know what's going on here, Cara, but you have my word that none of it leaves this room."

"Talking will not be necessary," Morgan said sharply. She moaned as Cara's tongue slid down to her entrance, flicking inside to coax out more wetness. "You may use your hands now," she granted, when Dahlia had succeeded in peeling the leather down over Cara's arms. Her tone, accompanied by the pulse of magic that raced through Cara's muscles, made it clear that this was more than a suggestion.

The blonde wasted no time bringing her bare hands up to spread Morgan's thighs further, fucking deep into her with her tongue. Morgan groaned indulgently, both hands gripping Cara's head firmly. Her eyes slammed shut in pleasure as Cara slid three fingers deep into her without warning. Cara's eyes glittered with the anticipation of victory.

Gloved hands slid down Cara's body, tugging the leather over her hips to expose her to Dahlia's attentions. Cara moaned into Morgan's sex as Dahlia pressed herself to Cara's naked back, one hand grasping her hip as the other slipped around to slide through moist curls. If it were anyone's fingers but Dahlia's gliding through the generous wetness between her thighs, Cara would have felt ashamed at how obvious her arousal was. She trusted Dahlia, though, and Dahlia would not judge her for it.

True to Cara's faith in her, Dahlia did not give any indication that this was anything out of the ordinary. Instead, she devoted herself to the activity that was almost second nature to her: pleasing her mistress. Pleasing _Cara_. Fingers circling Cara's clit, Dahlia slid her other hand between their bodies, entering Cara from behind with two fingers, quickly adding another when Cara hips thrust eagerly back against her.

Cara slid a fourth finger into Morgan, filling her roughly as she sucked mercilessly at the woman's flesh. She could feel Morgan beginning to lose control, breathing erratically as she clutched at Cara's braid, fervently meeting each deep thrust of Cara's hand.

Morgan's climax shook her body, filling Cara with smug satisfaction and something else, something foreign. It was similar to the overwhelming power that had put Cara in this position to begin with, only instead of flooding her body with pain, it sent sparks of pleasure racing through her blood. It caught Cara off guard, and it took only a few more thrusts of Dahlia's fingers to push her over the edge as well.

Panting, Cara glanced up at Morgan, hoping to find a woman come undone. She was sorely disappointed. Morgan looked down at her with a satisfied smirk on her lips, her eyes clear and alert as ever. The pressure on the back of Cara's head lessened as Morgan slid her fingers free of the blonde hair, stroking almost affectionately down the side of Cara's face.

“Well done,” Morgan said indulgently, patting Cara's cheek before pushing at her shoulder.

Cara slid her fingers free, feeling Dahlia do the same behind her, before sitting back on her heels. Her mind was already racing through alternate strategies; maybe with Dahlia here as well, they could manage to overpower this woman – but the gentle tug of that power in her chest told her that not only was Morgan well aware of what she was considering, it wouldn't work. It was no use; whatever this power was, it was going to take time to overcome it.

Morgan rose from her seat, either not noticing or not caring that she was naked as she walked slowly around the chambers with an appraising eye. “Why is there not a door?” She asked idly, not bothering to glance back as Dahlia helped Cara re-lace her leathers.

Cara smirked, sharing an uneasy glance with Dahlia. “There is no need for privacy in a Mord-Sith temple.”

"Hmm.” Morgan pondered that as she traced the various tools laid out on a side table with a leathered finger. “These are certainly nicer accommodations than I have been accustomed to,” she drawled, turning back to Cara and Dahlia with a cocky smile playing at her lips. “I could grow to like it here."

Something akin to a growl rumbled low in Cara's throat. She may not yet be able to resist this strange power of Morgan's, but one day soon she would wipe that superior expression from the brunette's face, and take back what was hers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairings: Cara/Morgan, Darken/Dahlia (Non-Explicit)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Dub-Con, Reference to Non-Con (Mord-Sith breaking)

“I can't understand it.” Morgan held her agiel loosely in her hand, idly trailing it along the mottled skin of Cara's back and stomach. “I have been here for close to a year. Every single sister of the agiel in this temple accepts my authority – even your precious Dahlia,” she pointed out with a smirk.

Cara stared steadily ahead as she dangled from the chains, the slight flare of her nostrils and clench of her jaw the only indications that she had even heard Morgan's words. She would be having a talk with Dahlia later.

Once Morgan had realized that Cara had no intention of submitting to her, the blonde had become something of a pet project for Morgan. The rest of the Mord-Sith at Jandralyn had fallen in line easily enough; pain was what they knew, and this power that Morgan had could inflict pain far worse than anything the agiel was capable of. They didn't like her, and Morgan wasn't naive enough to believe that they ever would. But they listened, and they obeyed, and that was more valuable – Sibyl's lessons had taught her that.

But Cara...she was an entirely different story. She had stubbornly held out, refusing to follow the simplest of orders, even attempting to command her sisters to rise up against Morgan. Even now, when the last of Cara's allies had fallen under Morgan's power, the blonde continued to resist.

“Yet you still refuse,” Morgan continued, her tone somewhere between frustrated and intrigued. “Do you actually still believe you can win back your place?”

“You will never have my place,” Cara growled, spitting out a mouthful of blood that Morgan easily sidestepped. “I _earned_ my place.”

Morgan's lips twisted into a scowl, grey eyes darkening, and she jabbed the agiel hard into the small of Cara's back. The blonde just grinned, fixing her eyes on one of the flickering torches mounted on the wall.

Being tortured was not a new experience for Cara, nor was it an entirely unpleasant one. Pain was familiar to her, at once a master and a lover and a tool. Were it any other sister, or even Lord Rahl himself, Cara might take pleasure in the pure cleansing power of pain.

With Morgan, however, the pain was not pure, or simple. With the burn of the agiel came the elusive power that the dark-haired Mord-Sith wielded with ease, the insidious creeping agony that twisted her insides just as brutally now as it had the first time she had felt it. Cara had thought all she needed was time to learn this pain. She'd been wrong.

The agiel danced across her skin, leaving bright red trails across her abdomen, but Cara hardly noticed it, as focused as she was on resisting Morgan's magic.

Morgan knew that, of course. Cara's training always began this way; the distant hum of the agiel merely an accompaniment to the screaming torture of the power boiling in her veins. It made it all the sweeter when Morgan eventually pulled back with her magic, slowly letting the agiel focus Cara's mind just enough to be remind her that Morgan could reward as well as punish.

Cara could feel it happening now, the power receding from her body like waves flowing out with the tide. The tip of the agiel dragged over her collarbone and down between her breasts, signaling the next phase of the training session.

The leather bindings traditionally used in the training of a Mord-Sith held little appeal for Morgan, so she didn't use them. Cara was always naked when Morgan tortured her, making it all the easier to transition from pain to pleasure.

A soft, strangled moan escaped Cara's throat as Morgan trailed the agiel over her breasts, lingering on the hardened points of her nipples. This was always the hardest part for Cara to resist, and Morgan knew it, savored it. A gloved hand came up to stroke the side of Cara's face.

“It only hurts because you continue to resist me.” Morgan's voice was soft, almost earnest as she dragged the weapon down Cara's stomach. “You could put a stop to it, never have to feel that pain again, if only you would agree to serve me.”

Inhaling deeply, Cara gathered what strength she had left. “I only serve Lord Rahl,” she ground out, her tone not quite as firm as she would have liked. This was beginning to wear on her, and even the best of Mord-Sith had a breaking point. Cara would never admit it to another living soul, but she feared she was getting close to hers.

“If that's how you want to play it.” Morgan smiled, savoring Cara's weakening resolve. She knew she was on the verge of winning. Slowly, deliberately, she slid the agiel lower.

***

Dahlia was on her way to the baths when she found herself abruptly jerked around and slammed against the stone wall of the corridor.

"Is it true?" Cara's eyes flashed with barely-restrained anger. Her lip was split, a cut on her forehead just barely closing, and her face was a mess of bruises and sweat and blood. Anyone else would seem weaker for it – Cara just looked terrifying, and deadlier than ever.

Eyes wide, Dahlia swallowed. “Is what true?”

"Don't play with me, Dahlia,” Cara warned, holding her against the wall with one hand and drawing her agiel with the other. The weapon hovered just under Dahlia's chin as Cara leaned in close, her voice low and rough. “Morgan was boasting about bringing even you under her control. Is. It. True?"

Dahlia's face softened. She reached out to rest a hand on Cara's hip, stroking gently as a hesitant smile graced her lips. "Cara, we were wasting all of our energy trying to resist her. By giving in, we can dedicate that energy to figuring out a way to overcome this power of hers."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention this to me first?" Dahlia's eyes clouded with shame, and Cara could see plainly what had happened. "She broke you before you could even consider it. You were too weak," she spat, her voice brimming with disappointment rather than venom.

"Because _you_ weren't there to keep me strong!" Dahlia retorted bitterly, pushing at Cara's hip. The blonde remained firmly in place, her hand tightening around the strap of Dahlia's neck-guard.

"A Mord-Sith needs no one but herself, Dahlia," Cara said, the steel in her voice compensating for the turmoil in her eyes. "If your will is so weak that you can't withstand a little pain, maybe I've protected you for too long."

Dahlia's head smacked against the stone wall as Cara pushed away from her. She ignored the throbbing in her skull, her eyes glimmering with hurt as she watched Cara stalk angrily down the hallway.

***

“Why do you continue to do this to yourself?”

Cara was once again hanging in the chains, clinging to the last fragile threads of her resolve. She tried to tell herself that she could do this, even without Dahlia; her pride would not allow her to admit even to herself that she was fighting a losing battle.

“Do you know what I think, Cara?” Morgan's free hand cupped Cara's chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “I think you're afraid,” she purred, hot breath puffing over the blonde's chapped lips.

“Mord-Sith fear nothing," Cara scoffed weakly. Her throat was hoarse from all of the screams she'd held inside.

Morgan smiled. “You _are_.” The words rolled off her tongue full of amusement and false wonder as she slid her palm against Cara's cheek. “You're afraid that I might actually be better than you. And you should be. I _am_ better than you, and stronger, and more powerful than you can imagine.”

Cara wanted to laugh, to give voice to all of the ways that Morgan was wrong, but Dahlia had been right about one thing: resisting Morgan took energy – energy that Cara was no longer sure she had. For the first time, she found herself actually considering whether Morgan may be right.

It had been years since Cara had acknowledged another sister of the agiel as her better – since Denna had left Jandralyn to serve at Lord Rahl's side, leaving the temple under Cara's leadership. Since then, she had grown quite comfortable with the idea that no one was superior to her, save for Lord Rahl himself. Now she was forced to admit that Morgan had her well and truly beaten. She could maybe hold out for another week, two at the most; but she was no closer to gaining back her place now than she had been nearly a year ago, and a couple of weeks would make no difference – the end result would be the same.

“You're right,” Cara choked out, resignation dulling her eyes as she swallowed the bitter truth of the words. “You are stronger than I am.”

Morgan blinked in surprise, her agiel humming idly against Cara's side as she processed her victory. She recovered quickly enough, re-sheathing the weapon in order to cup the blonde's face in both hands. “Well done,” she crooned with a pleased smile, leaning in to brush a soft kiss over Cara's lips that grew steadily more intense.

Cara's eyes drifted shut as the ever-present agony in her blood faded; within moments, she could feel nothing but the cleansing thrum of pain from her physical injuries, and the seductive warmth of Morgan's tongue sliding against her teeth. A strained whimper tore from her throat at the sheer relief of it.

Gloved fingers slid down Cara's neck, sparking tendrils of pleasure as they trailed down over her breasts. Without the constant scream of magic dulling her senses, everything was fresh, as though she was feeling it for the first time; and Morgan had studied Cara's body closely enough to know just how to evoke the wetness now flooding between her thighs.

Distantly, Cara thought that she should be ashamed of the way she arched into Morgan's hands, straining at the chains holding her aloft. Up until just moments ago, she had considered this woman her enemy; now that she had accepted the reality of her situation, however, it became easier to view Morgan as a sister of the agiel – with strength that outmatched her own and therefore commanded her respect.

And with Cara's respect came her appreciation for the pleasures Morgan was offering. A wanton moan escaped her throat, muffled against Morgan's mouth as nimble fingers closed around her nipples, tugging just hard enough for Cara to feel it in her sex.

Morgan tore her lips from Cara's, pulling back to observe her handiwork. Even marred as it was by bruises and welts, Cara's body was exquisite: full breasts streaked with blood and sweat, abdomen clenching with each labored breath, the seductive flare of her hips framing the the tangle of blonde curls between her thighs. Morgan's eyes burned with hunger as she looked up at Cara, wisps of blonde hair matted to the sides of her face where they had escaped her braid. Cara's cheeks were flushed, from exertion and pain and desire, her eyes still tightly closed.

“Look at me,” Morgan said, her voice quiet but firm. Cara's eyes drifted open, the clear jade hue darkened by need, and Morgan paused, open appreciation in her gaze. When she spoke again, her words were rough with arousal. “Do you see how much sweeter this can be, when you don't resist me?”

“Yes,” Cara groaned as Morgan's hands slid down her sides, leaving sparks in their wake.

Morgan's fingers bit into Cara's hips. “Yes, what?” She asked sharply. This would happen on Morgan's terms, or not at all.

“Yes, Mistress.” Cara found that the words sprang easily to her lips; she had, after all, been trained in submission for years before fighting her way to the top.

“That's a good pet,” Morgan purred, rewarding Cara with a hand promptly moving between her legs, sliding through slick folds to tease at the sensitive flesh before swiftly entering her with three fingers. “You will find that I can be a very generous mistress, so long as you obey my commands.”

Cara grunted appreciatively as Morgan thrust into her, hard. She jerked her hips eagerly forward, judging from experience that Morgan – her mistress – had a lot more to say.

“It really was admirable,” Morgan said, pumping steadily with her fingers as she continued to speak, “how you managed to hold out for so long. While you may not be my equal, you are as close to it as I am likely to find in this place.”

The shackles bit into Cara's wrists, and she turned her hands to clutch at the chains, using what leverage she could manage to arch insistently against Morgan's hand. She could feel her release building rapidly.

“You are the only Mord-Sith here worthy of serving at my side,” Morgan said, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk as she twisted her fingers _just right_.

“Morgan!” Cara cried as her climax tore through her body, arms trembling with her weight as she clung to the chains.

Morgan let the informality slide, pleased with her victory. Her hand stilled inside Cara's sex, thumb stroking gently at her clit as shudders racked the blonde's dangling form.

When Cara's eyes drifted open, Morgan was looking up at her almost fondly. This was different from the previous times Cara had been broken; it was clear from Morgan's expression that she didn't just command respect – she returned it in kind, at least where it was deserved. Pride swelled in Cara's chest, and she wasn't sure if it was Morgan's strange power or the simple knowledge that she had finally met a Mord-Sith worthy of being called sister.

Neither woman noticed Dahlia standing in the shadow of the arched doorway, a troubled look painting her features.

***

“It's unnerving,” Dahlia said quietly, folding her arms against the edge of the bath and resting her chin on her hands. Two younger sisters glided up behind her, working their fingers through her damp hair as she glanced over at Triana. “Most Mord-Sith only pretend to follow Morgan, but Cara seems to actually respect her.”

Triana rolled her eyes, leaning back and stretching her arms out along the side of the pool. “I don't get it,” she said. “The only reason Morgan has any hold over anyone is because of that bizarre power of hers. She doesn't even _care_ about Lord Rahl. She may wear the leathers and carry an agiel, but she is _not_ a Mord-Sith.”

Dahlia frowned, her brow furrowing as she looked down at her arms. “Cara seems to think she is.”

“Please,” Triana scoffed. “Cara wasn't trained with her. I watched her go from an insolent little brat to the arrogant bitch she is now.” Leaning in, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I'm pretty sure she's never even gotten the Breath of Life.”

As she turned to look at her fellow Mord-Sith, Dahlia's surprise shifted to alarm as a familiar figure entered the room.

“Triana,” Cara said, her voice dripping sickly sweet as she stalked over to the side of the bath.

The Mord-Sith in question lowered her arms immediately, her head bowing in deference. Morgan may be unworthy of her respect, but Cara had earned every ounce of it. “Yes, Mistress.”

The next thing Triana knew, gloved hands were firmly enmeshed in her hair, slamming the back of her head against the edge of the pool. Cara's agiel hovered menacingly over her throat.

“I must have misheard you,” Cara growled, her breath hot in Triana's ear. “Because it sounded to me like you were speaking ill of your superiors.”

Hesitantly, Dahlia turned to face them, looking imploringly at her former lover. “Cara-”

“Stay out of it, Dahlia,” Cara said sharply, without so much as a sideways glance.

Pain flickered across Dahlia's face as she fell silent, clenching her jaw in an attempt to compose herself.

Cara tightened her grip on Triana's hair, her eyes flashing maliciously as the woman gasped in pain. “I've beaten you before, Triana. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Triana choked out, grimacing as Cara pressed her head back into the hard stone.

“If and when you get yourself assigned to another temple, you are entitled to whatever opinion you like,” Cara continued. “But while you are at Jandralyn, _Mistress_ Morgan is your better. You will serve and obey her. If I hear of you disrespecting her again, you will regret it. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Mistress.”

A slow smile spread across Cara's lips, less from Triana's submission than from the sharp tug in her chest. Now that she had accepted Morgan's superiority, the power was no longer painful; instead, it was simply a firm, guiding presence, compelling her toward fulfilling Morgan's wishes.

Morgan had been close behind Cara, intent on sharing a little more than a bath with her favored sister of the agiel. Now she stood in the entryway, grey eyes smoldering with desire, and Cara could tell that bathing had just plummeted to the bottom of Morgan's list of priorities.

Cara released Triana's hair, her hand sliding down to grip the woman's shoulder tightly. “The floor in here is filthy, Triana,” she said with a haughty smirk. “It could use a good scrubbing.”

Triana swallowed, gritting her teeth. “Yes, Mistress.”

In one smooth movement, Cara stood and turned to follow Morgan out of the chamber. When they had gone, Triana chanced a look at Dahlia. They shared an uneasy glance before hurriedly finishing their baths in silence.

***

Darken Rahl swept into the entrance hall of the temple at Jandralyn with his usual dramatic flourish, flanked by two Mord-Sith. The one to his right was as tall as he was, with a jet black braid and sharp brown eyes that seemed to constantly be in motion – currently, they were scrutinizing every detail of Morgan that was visible.

The woman to his left looked almost cheerful in comparison; she was slightly shorter, with rich chestnut hair and sparkling blue eyes that hinted at a depth of knowledge that almost seemed out of place on a Mord-Sith. The corners of her lips were curled into a hint of a smirk as she stood stiffly with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Lord Rahl,” Morgan greeted as she stepped forward, bowing her head. A couple of paces behind her, Cara followed suit.

“Mistress Morgan,” he acknowledged, his piercing eyes raking over Morgan suspiciously before shifting to the blonde behind her. “Mistress Cara.”

“My lord,” Cara replied. “Was Mistress Denna unable to join you?”

“Denna is still being punished for her failure to train the Seeker,” he said with a disdainful scowl. “She has not yet earned back the title of Mistress.”

Cara's lips twisted into a cruel smirk, her amusement mirrored on Morgan's face.

“It is a shame, my lord,” Morgan said, raising her eyes to meet Rahl's gaze. “Such incompetence in a sister of the agiel disgraces us all.”

Darken narrowed his eyes, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Yes, it is a shame,” he agreed. “But that is a matter for another occasion. I expect my chambers have been made ready?”

“They have, my lord,” Morgan said. She was about to continue when a loud bell chimed throughout the temple. “Will you be joining us for devotions?”

A cold smile spread over his lips as his hawkish gaze remained fixed on Morgan's eyes. “Yes, I believe I will.”

***

The hall was large, easily accommodating all of the Mord-Sith that gathered there. At the center of the room was a raised platform, over which hung the large bell that rang twice daily to signal the beginning of devotions. Darken Rahl stood in the center of the platform, watching with satisfaction as the Mord-Sith arranged themselves in concentric rows around him.

Morgan took her usual place in the first ring of sisters, kneeling and pressing her forehead to the cold stone floor. Cara sank down to her knees next to Morgan, mirroring her position as all around the room, the words began.

“Master Rahl, guide us. Master Rahl, teach us. Master Rahl, protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”

Morgan's voice grew thicker with each repetition of the words. She had never understood why the devotions affected her so strongly; she didn't feel any particular attachment to Lord Rahl, and in all actuality had never had any intention of dedicating her life to his service, no matter how well she might pretend otherwise. Nonetheless, the ceremony never failed to set fire to her blood, magic surging within her to course through her veins. By the time the bell chimed again, signaling the end of the hour, her body ached with the arousal that the power ignited.

“Rise,” Darken said absently, his eyes seeking out one Mord-Sith in particular. His lips turned up in satisfaction as he found her. “Mistress Dahlia, I require your...assistance. Escort me to my chambers.”

Dahlia nodded, quickly rising to her feet to stand at his side. He gave a pointed look to the two Mord-Sith he had brought with him, who tilted their heads in acknowledgment, before he swept out of the hall with Dahlia in tow.

Cara noticed the exchange, but was far more concerned with the hungry look in Morgan's eyes. By now she was accustomed to Morgan's appetites, and knew exactly what the devotions did to her. It amused Cara to no end, but as it typically resulted in the opportunity to serve her mistress in the most enjoyable of ways, she couldn't say she minded.

Feeling the familiar tug of power in her chest, Cara parted her lips, running her tongue over the lower one as she followed Morgan away to her chambers.

Across the platform, the two Mord-Sith that had accompanied Lord Rahl to Jandralyn shared a look.

“You noticed it too, right?” The blue-eyed woman murmured quietly.

“It would have been hard to miss,” her dark-haired companion replied with a small smirk.

The shorter woman smiled excitedly, wheels turning visibly behind her blue eyes. She had refrained from detailing her suspicions to her companion, but the darker woman could see that whatever they may be, they were very close to being confirmed.

“We have to follow them,” the blue-eyed woman said, tugging at a leather-clad arm as she set off down the hallway after Morgan and Cara.

***

Darken Rahl's chambers at Jandralyn were a far cry from the bare, utilitarian rooms provided to the Mord-Sith. The bedroom was large and lavishly decorated in red and gold, from the plush carpet on the floor to the ornate chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling.

Lord Rahl swept into the room with a troubled look on his face, turning to observe Dahlia as she followed him in.

“Close the door, and bolt it,” he instructed, reaching up to stroke his lip in agitation. Only when she had done as he asked did he speak again. “Tell me why you asked me to come here.”

“It's Morgan, my lord,” Dahlia said hesitantly, folding her hands in front of her and fixing her gaze on the floor. “She has been here little more than a year, and has managed to bring every sister in the temple under her command.”

“I can see that much,” Darken replied with a derisive smirk. “If I recall correctly, Mistress Cara's rise to power took even less time.”

“My lord, this is different,” Dahlia insisted, a hint of disdain creeping into her tone. “I didn't want to say too much in my message, but Morgan has some sort of power – a magic that even Mord-Sith cannot repel. That's how she seized control here.”

Darken nodded. “It's as I thought, then,” he said. “You are not the first to voice these concerns to me.”

Dahlia's brow furrowed in confusion. “My lord?”

“Why do you think I had her sent here?” He replied. “I trusted that if anyone could bring her in line, it would be Cara. Sadly, I was mistaken.”

His words had an instantaneous effect on Dahlia, her eyes darkening and her lips turning down in the barest hint of a frown. “My lord, I assure you that Mistress Cara did everything she could-”

“Hush, Dahlia,” Darken said with a small smile. “You needn't worry about your mistress. I am far more interested in Morgan and this strange power of hers. Rest assured, I have no intention of allowing a Mord-Sith to usurp my authority.”

Dahlia nodded, her relaxed posture telegraphing her relief.

“I have Berdine and Raina looking into it as we speak, and Morgan will be dealt with accordingly,” Darken said, sliding his outer robe over his shoulders as he leered hungrily at Dahlia. “For now, that's enough talk.”

She raised her head to meet his gaze, a pleased smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, my lord.”

Morgan would regret trying to claim what didn't belong to her. Dahlia would make sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairing: Cara/Morgan/Berdine/Raina

The sight that greeted the two Mord-Sith when they arrived at Morgan's chambers was one neither would ever have expected to see: Mistress Cara, willingly on her knees for another Mord-Sith. Morgan had been stripped of her uniform, naked save for the leather harness slung over her hips, fitted with a long, thick phallus. Cara's gloved hands were braced against Morgan's bare hips as she took the phallus into her mouth, looking up at Morgan all the while with a more submissive expression than either of the newcomers had ever witnessed on her face – and they had known Cara for quite some time.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Berdine said as she and Raina stepped into the room. Her tone was anything but apologetic, and her blue eyes glittered with interest. Raina elbowed her in the ribs, shooting her a stern look, and Berdine swallowed her amusement, straightening her expression.

Morgan was not quite as amused; her head shot up, her eyes shifting from Cara's to pierce Berdine with a glare. “What are you doing here?” She asked, the desire in her voice tinged with irritation at being interrupted.

Berdine felt a tug in her chest, a foreign power invading her mind and compelling her to answer. She almost laughed. “You don't need to command me to speak,” she said with a smirk. “Ask Raina; you'll have a harder time getting me to stop.”

Her dark-haired companion nodded in confirmation, a wry smile touching her lips. She glanced over at Berdine, taking note of the triumphant glint in the woman's eyes. Raina knew that look – it was the one Berdine got whenever she was right about something.

Morgan eyed Berdine with interest; she had used her power on countless Mord-Sith, and never before had she seen one respond by looking almost _happy_ about it. It caught her off-guard, and her hand loosened around the base of Cara's braid as she considered Berdine's reaction.

Cara released the phallus with a wet pop, turning to fix Berdine with an impatient glare. “Berdine,” she growled, with the slightest tilt of her head. “You didn't answer the question.”

“Lord Rahl ordered us to spy on you,” Berdine replied casually.

Rising to her feet, Cara positioned herself slightly in front of Morgan, her hand resting on her agiel.

Berdine ignored Raina's questioning look, too busy studying Morgan curiously. “You were taken from Britain, weren't you?”

Morgan's lips parted as she blinked in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“You could say it's my job to know things,” Berdine offered, smiling at the confirmation. “Most Mord-Sith serve in the temples, because that is where their skills are best utilized; my skills, however, serve Lord Rahl best in the area of research.”

“She pretty much lives in the library,” Raina clarified.

“And Lord Rahl instructed you to research me?” Morgan asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“In a manner of speaking,” Berdine replied. “His father, Panis Rahl, did a lot of business with Britain. Lord Rahl wanted me to look into what records there are of it – I assume to keep himself apprised of potential enemies.”

“Where does Morgan fit into this?” Cara asked, her gaze flicking between her mistress and the bookish Mord-Sith. She didn't think she'd be forced to defend Morgan, but she was still incredibly confused as to what was going on.

Excitement filled Berdine's voice. “Recently, I came across some old letters that refer to Panis Rahl's younger sister, Karena.”

“Karena was my mother's name,” Morgan interjected, her mind racing.

Berdine grinned. “I suspected as much. You see, Panis had no use for a sister – he was far more concerned with developing his own magical powers, and securing his hold over D'Hara. The letters I spoke of are correspondence between him and a warlord in Britain – who, as it happens, was on the lookout for a bride.”

A grim smile touched Morgan's lips. “Uther.”

“Uther Pendragon,” Berdine confirmed. “It was the perfect deal: Uther wanted a wife to bear him a son, and Panis wanted to ensure that he had no rivals for the throne of D'Hara. By sending Karena to Britain to marry Uther, Panis not only got what he wanted, but he also gained a powerful ally. Should the need arise to defend D'Hara with force, Uther's armies would be a formidable asset.”

Cara cocked her head as she processed the information. “So you're saying that Morgan is a Rahl.”

Berdine's smile widened. “I'm saying more than that,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement as she turned to address the woman in question. “From what I've seen and felt here, I'm almost certain that you possess the Rahl bond.”

Morgan's brow furrowed as she glanced at Cara, seeing her own confusion mirrored there. “What bond?”

“There are texts in the libraries of the People's Palace that speak of a magical bond that Lord Rahl possesses, that compels his subjects to obey him,” Berdine explained. “The bond is strengthened and maintained by twice-daily devotions. When I first read of the bond, I thought it was a myth. I had never felt the kind of compulsion described in the texts when Darken Rahl gave me orders. Now I know why – _you_ hold the bond. You are the Lady Rahl.”

Morgan was silent for a long moment as the implications of what Berdine was saying became clear. Suddenly a lot of things made more sense. “That's why the devotions affect me so powerfully,” she mused. “They are meant for me.”

Cara stared at her mistress in wonder as the pieces fell into place. This was why she hadn't been able to repel Morgan's magic, why she had inevitably succumbed. She hadn't been weak – she had been finally doing her duty as a Mord-Sith. Her eyes gleamed with vindication as she slowly knelt at Morgan's feet.

“Mistress Rahl, guide us,” Cara began, holding Morgan's gaze rather than pressing her forehead to the floor. Her voice held reverence, but it quickly grew thick with desire. “Mistress Rahl, teach us.”

Raina sank down to her knees as well, followed shortly by Berdine. “Mistress Rahl, protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”

Morgan's eyes slammed shut as she breathed in the surge of power flooding her body. By the time they reached the end of the second repetition, she was trembling with the force of the arousal pulsing through her veins. Forcing her eyes open, she held up a hand to stop the Mord-Sith from starting another round.

“Stand,” she directed, her voice rough with need.

Cara rose to her feet, her eyes smoldering as they stayed locked on Morgan's own. “How may I serve you, Mistress?”

“Remove your leathers,” Morgan said with a great deal of effort. Looking behind Cara, she directed her next words to Berdine and Raina. “Assist her.”

Neck-guard, corset, belt, agiel – they all collected in a pile on the floor, quickly joined by Cara's leathers and boots. Morgan's eyes raked appreciatively over Cara's golden skin, lingering at her breasts and between her legs, before her impatience got the better of her.

Morgan stepped in close, reaching for Cara's neck to pull her into a fervent kiss. She pressed herself tightly against Cara, and the movement jerked at the phallus between her legs as it was forced up between their abdomens. The base of it ground against Morgan's clit, and she moaned hungrily into Cara's mouth before tearing herself away.

“Get on the desk,” she ordered roughly.

Cara rushed to obey, striding over to the desk and pulling herself up onto it just in time for Morgan to press her thighs apart and thrust deep into her with the phallus. Cara groaned as Morgan filled her; they had done this before, but there was something different about it now, something intangible but _there_. Cara was not submitting to a fellow sister of the agiel, to an equal – she was serving her Lady Rahl.

Berdine and Raina shared a heated glance as Morgan began to fuck Cara in earnest. It had been a long time since they had indulged in anyone but each other; the situation at the People's Palace had been tense ever since Denna had let the Seeker slip through her fingers, which left little time for the more enjoyable aspects of sisterhood. Berdine quirked an eyebrow, a silent question clear in her expression. Her dark-eyed lover grinned hungrily in response.

Morgan grunted appreciatively as the buckles of Raina's belt dug sharply into her ass, and leather-sheathed hands slid up her sides, moving around to tease at her full breasts. Then Raina's touch fell away, sliding down Morgan's back to stroke her ass as Berdine stepped up next to them, reaching up to cup Morgan's jaw. Morgan turned to claim Berdine's mouth with her own, teeth and tongues colliding as Berdine reached up to tug at hardened nipples.

Morgan's rhythm faltered, but she never ceased her thrusts, her own fingers digging into Cara's hips as Raina's fingers slid down between the straps of the harness to sink knuckle deep into her sex. She lost herself in the steady back and forth – thrust hard into Cara, back against Raina's fingers, all the while arching into Berdine's hand at her breasts. The physical sensations coupled with the power she now recognized for what it was overwhelmed her, and she felt her release rapidly approaching.

Cara leaned back on her hands as she jerked her hips to meet Morgan's thrusts, her eyes hungrily devouring the sight of her mistress being so thoroughly pleasured. The red leather of Berdine's glove contrasted sharply with Morgan's pale breasts, mimicking the dark beauty of blood on skin. Cara moaned as Morgan thrust more forcefully into her; she knew Morgan was close, and the part of her mind that was not clouded by lust noted with interest that aside from the wanton sounds of sex, Morgan had not managed a single word since ordering her onto the desk.

She had learned quickly that Morgan was very talkative during sex; she'd grown to appreciate the gasped-out demands for loyalty, the grunted orders for _more_ or _harder_. Now it seemed as though Morgan was so absorbed in the sensations racking her body that she couldn't form words, instead relying on the thread of power connecting her to each of her devoted Mord-Sith.

Cara felt that thread tug at her, and she grinned wildly as she thrust particularly hard against the phallus. She knew what it was that Morgan wanted, and she wanted nothing more than to give it to her. Swiftly, Cara slid the fingers of her right hand between her own legs, working in fast, hard circles to bring herself to the edge.

“Lady Rahl!” Cara cried out as she tumbled over, clenching around the hard length inside of her.

Crazed with lust as she was, Morgan didn't know what it was that finally triggered her climax – whether it was the base of the phallus grinding against her clit, Raina's fingers twisting inside of her, Berdine's tongue in her mouth or hand at her breast, or whether it was Cara's fervent cry that did it, hoarse and wanton and sincere. Whatever it was, the orgasm that resulted was more powerful than anything she had ever felt before; she tore her mouth from Berdine's and quickly released Cara's hips, scrambling to brace herself against the edge of the desk as her knees threatened to give out on her.

Berdine's hands moved to Morgan's hips, holding firm to steady her as Raina slowly slid her fingers free. When she managed to catch her breath, Morgan slid the phallus out of Cara, stumbling over to her cot and collapsing onto the edge of it.

Raina held her gloved fingers out to Berdine, still glistening with Morgan's arousal. Aware that Morgan was watching, Berdine smiled seductively, pulling the fingers into her mouth and methodically cleaning the leather of Morgan's taste. Raina's eyes darkened further at the familiar sensation, and she tugged Berdine in for an ardent kiss, sharing the flavor on Berdine's tongue.

Morgan hummed appreciatively, and the couple instantly separated, bowing their heads to Morgan. It had been all too easy to forget who Morgan was, and that _her_ pleasure was their only priority, not their own.

“Don't stop on my account,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “You have both done well. You may tend to one another.”

They needed little more excuse than that; almost immediately, they were back in each other's arms, tongues clashing and hands grasping at buckles and laces.

Cara observed for a few moments, recalling fond memories of similar situations – only back then, it had been Dahlia with them, not Morgan, and there had been no concern over whose pleasure took priority. For a moment her expression hardened. Would Dahlia come around, when she found out who Morgan was? Cara knew that she was Morgan's favored pet, but she didn't think the woman would begrudge her a pet of her own. Was it naive to hope that the strength of the feelings they once shared would be enough to make Dahlia accept the truth of the situation?

Morgan caught her eye then, cheeks flushed with satisfaction and renewed arousal, and Cara slid off of the desk, banishing all thoughts of anything but pleasing her mistress – her Lady Rahl.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairings: Cara/Morgan, Berdine/Raina, Cara/Darken (All Non-Explicit)

Much later, when all four women were well sated, Morgan lounged naked on her cot, watching the others help each other back into their leathers. Now that the haze of lust was cleared, she was better able to consider everything Berdine had told her.

“Mistress Berdine,” Morgan said, a pleased smile tugging at her lips when the woman in question turned to her immediately, ready for orders. “Tell me more about this bond. How is it that I came to possess it?”

Berdine smiled, eager to share what she knew. “From what I've read, the bond is held by only one Rahl at a time – ordinarily, the presiding Lord Rahl. I'm not certain, but I believe that when Panis was killed, the bond passed to the next eldest living Rahl – your mother – rather than down the line of succession.”

“And then when my mother died, it passed to me?” Morgan pondered; something was wrong with that.

“Not quite,” Berdine said, recognizing Morgan's confusion. “It would have then passed to Lo- Darken Rahl, he being the next eldest of the bloodline. I can only assume that at some point he must have died and been brought back with the Breath of Life – long enough for the bond to pass to you?”

“You don't sound too sure of that,” Morgan observed.

Berdine sighed, sinking down to sit in the chair by the desk. “It doesn't quite fit. I don't recall ever feeling the bond with Darken Rahl. So either he died shortly after your mother did, and was brought back, or there's a piece of the puzzle missing.”

Raina smiled fondly at Berdine's obvious frustration – she knew how much Berdine hated to admit that she didn't know something. Tying off the laces of Cara's neck-guard, she stepped over to her lover, resting a hand affectionately on her shoulder. Berdine tilted her head toward the touch, and Raina's hand slid up to stroke at the back of her neck.

“So the bond is held by the eldest living Rahl,” Morgan mused as she shifted to make room for Cara on the small bed. “Why would it not have returned to my cousin when he was revived?”

“That I can answer,” Berdine said with a confident smirk. “The passing of the bond is triggered by death – once it left Darken, it couldn't return to him unless you died. And even then, I'm not certain it would work that way. Everything I've read of the bond implies that it only passes one way – once you lose it, you can never get it back.”

“That would be why Mistress Sibyl never allowed me to be killed in training,” Morgan said, realization dawning on her.

“I always wondered if the rumors were true,” Cara said, trailing gloved fingers idly over the bare skin of Morgan's abdomen. “That you've never had the Breath of Life. It's too bad about the bond – I think you'd enjoy the experience.”

“Sibyl knows who I am,” Morgan continued, remembering all of the details of her training that had never quite seemed to fit. “She told me I was destined to rule, but she never said that it would be Britain. It makes complete sense! She was grooming me to rule D'Hara.”

“Lady Rahl,” Raina said nervously, glancing toward the open doorway. “You may want to be careful with this information. Darken Rahl may not have the bond, but he has the loyalty of D'Hara – and its armies.”

“Raina's right, Mistress,” Berdine offered. “The bond is stronger in Mord-Sith because we have been trained with the agiel – we've quite literally had our loyalty beaten into us – but it is still possible for us to resist it, at least for a time. For the average D'Haran, the bond is nothing more than a vague compulsion – easy enough to ignore, particularly if the subject doesn't know or recognize who the presiding Lord – or Lady – Rahl is.”

Morgan frowned, contemplating her options. “It seems as though my cousin will yet need to be kept in the dark about my true identity,” she mused unhappily.

“'It is a great thing to know the season for speech and the season for silence,'” Berdine quoted.

“Seneca,” Morgan said, impressed.

Berdine cocked her head, a bright smile spreading over her lips. “You know it?”

“Sibyl taught me much more than mere obedience. Seneca also said that 'No one can wear a mask for very long',” Morgan said, before sighing in resignation. “You do have a point, however. I shall have to remain silent, at least long enough to come up with a sound strategy.”

Cara pressed herself against Morgan's side, her tongue flicking out to trace Morgan's earlobe. Cara smiled as her mistress shivered at the touch. “At least we know who you are.”

\---

 _“I for one will be more than happy to serve you above all others.”_

Dahlia froze as she neared the archway. Cara's words cut deep; she still remembered nights spent curled into the curve of Cara's shoulder, Cara's soft voice assuring Dahlia that she was the most important person in the world to her, apart from Lord Rahl. Now it would seem that Cara had found someone to replace even him. Tears pricked at Dahlia's eyes, and she swiped at them angrily; it was pointless to dwell on childish promises. All that mattered now was making sure Morgan got what was coming to her. If Dahlia could somehow emerge from it with Cara back in her arms, all the better, but she was no naive child, clinging to foolish hopes.

The room fell silent as Dahlia entered. The smile melted off of Cara's lips as she turned to look in Dahlia's direction. Her eyes grew cold, distant; nothing like the warmth and affection that Dahlia had taken for granted.

“Can I help you, Dahlia?” Morgan asked curtly; she was well aware of how Dahlia felt about her, no matter how artfully Dahlia pretended at submission.

Dahlia cleared her throat, raising her chin and setting her jaw. “I was on my way to devotions,” she explained. “You must not have heard the bell. At least, I assume you're attending?”

“I wasn't aware that they were optional,” Morgan said with a derisive smirk. “Berdine, Raina, you had best go and give Lord Rahl his due.”

The lovers shared a knowing glance before bowing their heads to Morgan. Dahlia stiffened as they brushed past her to exit the room.

“You may as well join them, Dahlia,” Morgan said, reaching inside for the power she'd come to know so well. “Mistress Cara and I will be along after she has helped me to dress.”

Dahlia scowled, but the tug of magic in her chest prevented her from arguing. “Yes, Mistress,” she said through her teeth. Anger bubbled up in her chest as she turned around to follow the other two Mord-Sith to the devotions hall.

Morgan watched her go with a wary eye. “She's going to cause trouble.”

Cara smirked, shifting up to straddle Morgan's hips. “She can try,” Cara purred, rocking her hips into the woman beneath her.

Morgan smiled, pleased and somewhat touched by Cara's staunch loyalty. Reaching up, she cupped the back of Cara's head, pulling her down into an ardent kiss.

“What about devotions?” Cara murmured against Morgan's lips.

“Considering I am the rightful target of them,” Morgan began, arching her hips against Cara's, “I think we can stand to be a little late.”

***

The devotions had already begun by the time Morgan sauntered into the hall, with Cara close behind. Darken Rahl watched with narrowed eyes as they made their way through the rows of Mord-Sith to take their usual places.

It took a repetition or two for him to realize that while Morgan had knelt with her sisters, she wasn't actually saying the words. Next to her, Cara was repeating the devotions as obediently as ever, but her head was tilted ever-so-slightly toward Morgan. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think Cara was saying the devotions to her fellow Mord-Sith, rather than to him. This lapse in loyalty would have to be rectified – and perhaps he could find out more about Morgan by spending some...quality time with her favored pet.

“Rise,” Rahl instructed when the hour was up, his eyes immediately locking with Cara's as she raised her head. There was a familiar challenge in her steady gaze, but something about it seemed different to him; before, there had always been an underlying respect in her defiance. Now, it seemed to be shifting into something more like disdain.

That was, of course, because Cara knew that he was not the true Lord Rahl. Without his title, he was nothing more than a man, as far beneath her as the pet she had waiting for her in the dungeons. Her lips curved up enigmatically as she returned his gaze, almost daring him to guess at the truth. She was wholly unsurprised when he summoned her to him as the rest of the Mord-Sith began to file out of the hall.

“Mistress Cara,” he said, leering. “It has been too long since I have experienced your...particular talents. I should like to have some pleasant memories to take with me when I return to the People's Palace tomorrow.”

Cara's eyes flicked to one of the arched doorways, where Morgan was watching with a dangerous glint in her eyes. She felt a tug in her chest, sharp enough to hurt; Morgan clearly did not approve of Darken's intentions. Cara smirked. She didn't need to be commanded to deny his request; he no longer held any power over her, and as such she owed him nothing – least of all the pleasure of her skills.

“My lord,” Cara said, artfully composing her features to suggest a hesitance that she certainly didn't feel. “You know that I am eager to serve you in any way you see fit.”

“Then why does it sound like you are about to refuse me?” Darken asked, his hands clenching unconsciously into fists.

“I am in the middle of breaking a particularly difficult man,” Cara explained smoothly. “I suspect he has knowledge of the Seeker's whereabouts. I've left him alone in the chains for three days now, and he is due for more...hands-on attention.”

“Splendid,” Darken said, clapping his hands together almost happily. “I'll join you in the dungeons, then; I do love to watch you work.”

“Lord Rahl,” Cara said carefully, “I'm sure you can appreciate the delicate nature of the situation. Reliance is but one small step away from obedience, as you well know. Your presence would call my authority over him into question.”

Rahl's eyes darkened in warning. “My own authority is higher than that of anyone else in all of D'Hara,” he said coldly, his gaze flicking briefly to Morgan. “I trust you remember that?”

“Of course, my lord,” Cara said smoothly. “It's only that this man was not strong of mind to begin with; he's teetering on the edge of insanity as we speak. The training required to shift his loyalties to you might be enough to push him over. Ordinarily, I would enjoy testing just how far he could be pushed – but I would not want to risk losing such crucial information to madness. The Seeker must be stopped.”

Darken was silent for a long moment, sliding an index finger over his lips as he contemplated Cara's words. It certainly seemed to make sense; the Seeker was the only thing standing between him and the final box of Orden, and he was well aware of Cara's preferred training methods – there was no reason to think that what she told him was anything but the truth. Still, there was something about the way she looked at Morgan that made him uneasy; he had hoped to collect a few more pieces of the puzzle tonight. And Cara had never refused his attentions before; that was suspicious in its own right.

A slow, seductive smile curved over Cara's lips; as though she could hear his thoughts, she swayed closer to him, sliding a gloved finger down his chest. “My lord,” she purred, tilting her head toward his ever-so-slightly. “You know that I would like nothing more than to join you in your bed. If you'd prefer, I can leave him until morning. One more night without food or water shouldn't make that much of a difference; and if he goes mad, or dies, I'm sure you will defeat the Seeker even without the knowledge he may possess.”

Her hand slid lower, slipping between the split in his robes to hook into his belt, and for a moment he looked sorely tempted; panic seized Cara's chest as his expression clouded with lust. This was a dangerous game she was playing; Morgan would not be pleased if Darken Rahl succeeded at getting Cara into his bed – she didn't need the insistent tug of the bond to tell her that. Perhaps if she got him alone, she might be able to kill him – it would be messy, but it would leave Morgan with an unrivaled claim to the throne.

“No, you're right,” Darken said finally, disappointment and frustration evident in his tone. His lips pulled into a tight line as he closed his hand around her wrist and tugged it away from his belt. “This information is more important. I shall have to enjoy the pleasure of your company at a later time.”

Cara pouted skillfully, feigning disappointment to cover up her relief. Bowing her head, she prepared to take her leave.

“Mistress Cara.” Darken's hand was still tight around her wrist, though, and he tugged her to him, his other hand gripping her chin. Swiftly, he lowered his lips to hers, claiming her mouth in a rough kiss.

She responded eagerly, as she knew he'd expect her to; as his tongue plundered the depths of her mouth, her leathered hands slid up his chest, clutching at his collar to pull him in closer. His beard was rough against her chin, his mouth hard and demanding – taking his pleasure, rather than sharing it the way that Morgan did – but Cara moaned into his mouth nonetheless. She saw this for what it was: a public display of his own imagined dominance. She would indulge him, if it meant she would be spared having to share his bed. Morgan's eyes still searing into her back were reminder enough that her Lady Rahl's wrath was not something she wanted to incur.

He pulled away finally with a hard bite at her bottom lip, falling just short of drawing blood. His lips curved into a satisfied smile as he glanced over to see Morgan's eyes smoldering with jealous rage. “You are dismissed,” he said, releasing Cara's wrist before turning to Dahlia, who was lingering in the archway in another corner of the room. “Mistress Dahlia, it appears I will require your services once again.”

Dahlia straightened, barely containing the smug smile that tugged at her lips. Lord Rahl wasn't the only one enjoying Morgan's jealousy. “Of course, my lord.”

Cara watched them exit the room, pleased with her own performance. Her satisfaction dropped away, however, when she turned to meet Morgan's infuriated gaze.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairings: Cara/Morgan, Darken/Dahlia (Non-Explicit)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Bloodplay, Anal, D/S, Rough Sex

Morgan stormed into her chambers, whirling around to pin Cara with an accusing glare as she tugged angrily at her gloves. “Is that how you show your devotion to me?”

“Lady Rahl,” Cara said, bowing her head so Morgan wouldn't see the exasperated roll of her eyes. “I was only trying to avoid suspicion.”

“By throwing yourself at my cousin?” Morgan spat, tossing her gloves aside. “You were practically begging him to bed you.”

Cara stiffened, keeping her eyes fixed somewhere around Morgan's feet. “With all due respect, Mistress, I was doing my best to avoid that,” she ground out. “And I succeeded,” she added as an afterthought.

In an instant, Cara found herself shoved face-first against the wall, Morgan's hand pressing firmly between her shoulder-blades.

“You forget your place,” Morgan growled, her breath hot in Cara's ear as she began to tear at the buckles and laces of Cara's leathers with her free hand.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” Cara said, her cheek pressed into the cold stone. She gave up on trying to explain the necessity of her performance; Morgan was beyond being able to hear logic. “I only wanted to please you.”

Morgan sneered, yanking Cara's neck-guard off. It hung by the strap connecting it to her corset, until Morgan freed that as a well, tossing both items aside to attack the laces running down Cara's back.

“It would _please_ me,” she said through gritted teeth, “if you would remember who I am, and who you belong to.”

Cara grunted as Morgan tugged her leathers violently over her shoulders, pressing her naked breasts against the rough stone. The wetness between her thighs that had never completely left after their earlier activities returned in full force. As much as Cara knew she was being punished, she couldn't deny her body's reaction to Morgan's harsh treatment – or the surge of pride knowing that it was she who had inspired such crazed jealousy.

“I belong to you, Mistress,” Cara said as Morgan yanked the leather down over her hips.

“That's right,” Morgan said approvingly, the heel of her left hand dug painfully into Cara's back as the not-quite-blunted nails of her right dug sharply into the flesh of Cara's ass, stopping just short of drawing blood. “You are _mine_.”

Cara's breath hitched in anticipation as Morgan pressed her thighs apart. She was still sore from Morgan's earlier attentions, and despite her abundant arousal, Morgan's fingers stung as they forced their way into her sex. Cara hissed, thrusting back eagerly against Morgan's hand. Pain was just another path to pleasure, and it was a path she knew intimately.

“He will never touch you again,” Morgan said, thrusting hard and deep into Cara. “No one will, not without my consent. Everything you are belongs to _me_.”

As though to emphasize her point, Morgan pressed her thumb to the entrance of Cara's ass, shoving it past the ring of muscle as she continued to pump into Cara's sex. Cara groaned, her nipples scraping against the wall as she arched back into the touch.

Sensing that Cara was getting close, Morgan stilled her hand. Her nails dug into the skin of Cara's back as she held Cara in place, her voice growing loud and hoarse. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, Mistress," Cara groaned, her hips jerking insistently against Morgan's hand. Her sex throbbed with the need for release.

Lips curving into a satisfied grin, Morgan raked her nails down Cara's back as she renewed her thrusts, driving Cara swiftly over the edge. As Cara slumped against the wall, Morgan leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to swipe at the little droplets of blood that had sprung up from the deep scratches. The metallic taste rolled over her tongue as she tugged her hand free, grabbing Cara's shoulders and swiftly turning her around. Cara's back stung where the stone scraped against the fresh scratches.

"And who am I?" Morgan asked, her voice dark with lust.

"Lady Morgan Rahl,” Cara said, still breathing heavily.

Morgan claimed Cara's lips in a rough kiss, and Cara moaned as Morgan's tongue forced the flavor of her own blood into her mouth. Morgan's teeth pulled at Cara's lower lip before she pulled away, just as quickly as she had darted forward. Something dangerous glittered in her grey eyes.

"Do not forget it."

***

Darken's fingers stroked idly at Dahlia's bare shoulder as she pressed herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths under her hand, his jaw tight with tension.

“You seem troubled, my lord,” Dahlia said, her lips quirking mischievously as she dragged her fingers down over his abdomen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Darken caught her wrist in a tight grip. “I've already indulged more than I should. There are matters that demand my attention.”

“Morgan.” Dahlia's expression hardened at the mere thought of the woman.

“Among other things,” Darken said, sliding out of bed.

Dahlia sat up, her brow furrowing with concern as he walked over to rummage through his bags. “My lord, something must be done. She cannot be allowed to-”

Darken turned, pinning her with a cold stare. “When I want your opinion, Dahlia, I'll ask for it.” She fell silent, chastened, and he turned back to his bags. “I do not intend to allow Morgan to continue to undermine my authority,” Darken said, pulling out the object he was looking for. “Unfortunately, there are matters far more urgent that I must focus my efforts on at the moment. Namely the Seeker and the boxes of Orden.”

“Of course, my lord.” Dahlia kept her gaze fixed on the bedspread, inwardly berating herself for questioning Lord Rahl's judgment. It seemed Morgan was inspiring insubordination even in those who hated her – all the more reason for her to be stopped.

She was shaken from her thoughts when a small book landed on the bed beside her. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was a journey book.

“Keep that with you,” Darken said, in response to her inquisitive gaze. “Should the situation here become more dire, write to me immediately and I shall provide you with instructions, or travel here myself if need be.”

“Yes, my lord,” Dahlia said, clutching the book gratefully.

“I don't need to tell you that this should be kept between you and I,” Darken said with a pointed glance. “It would be best if no one knew about this, even – and perhaps especially – Cara.”

Dahlia nodded. As much as it hurt to keep things from her, this was for Cara's own good; she certainly wouldn't allow Dahlia to plot behind her precious Mistress Morgan's back, even if it was by Lord Rahl's command.

“Now get dressed,” Darken ordered, waving dismissively as he stalked back over to the bed. “I must be on my way early tomorrow.”

Dahlia obeyed, sliding out from between the sheets as he slipped back in. She pulled on her leathers as best she could – they were never meant to be donned alone – and picked up the book, holding it close.

She turned back as she reached the door, nibbling on her lower lip. “My lord?”

“What is it, Dahlia?” Lord Rahl responded, irritation plain in his tone.

“Be careful, in your travels,” Dahlia said, swallowing nervously. “I suspect Mistresses Berdine and Raina may have been seduced over to Morgan's side.”

“Yes, I expected as much.” Darken smirked, relaxing against his pillow. “Do not fear, Dahlia, I have my own plans for those two.”

***

An indulgent sigh escaped Morgan's throat as she slowly came down from her climax, relaxing against her pillow. Cara pulled her fingers free of Morgan's sex, bringing them to her lips as she looked down at her mistress through half-lidded eyes.

“Come here,” Morgan said languidly, reaching for Cara.

Cara obliged her, crawling up Morgan's body and hissing as the movement tugged at the scratches that were beginning to scab over on her back. Then Morgan's fingers were sliding along her scalp, pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss.

“Lady Rahl,” Cara moaned appreciatively as Morgan released her from the kiss. She smirked at the utterly satisfied expression on her mistress' face. “I trust that I've sufficiently atoned for my crimes?”

Morgan scowled, but there was no real malice behind it. Tugging Cara down to lie alongside her, she sighed in resignation. “I cannot argue with your logic. It is very likely that you took the only possible course of action,” she granted, before her voice grew stern. “But I don't ever want to witness anything like it again.”

“I'll do my best to avoid it, Mistress,” Cara said as she relaxed against Morgan's side, her fingers trailing lightly over Morgan's pale stomach and breasts.

“For now I suppose it's best that he doesn't suspect you of disloyalty,” Morgan said unhappily, sliding her hand down Cara's arm to close around her wrist before the blonde could try to initiate another round of sex. “To that end, you should dress and put in some time with your prisoner.”

Cara frowned, but she couldn't really argue; she had been the one to emphasize the urgency of the man's information, after all. With any luck, he would provide some small bit of intelligence that might keep Darken Rahl's attention well away from Jandralyn. With a heavy sigh, she pulled herself away from Morgan, rising to her feet to collect her clothing.

***

“Mistress Berdine to see you, Lord Rahl.”

Darken Rahl looked up from his desk, nodding to his guard. A brief flash of understanding passed between them. “Send her in.”

Berdine strode into the room, coming to a stop in front of his desk, hands clasped behind her back. “You sent for me, my lord?”

Rahl was silent for a long moment as he scrutinized the Mord-Sith. Her usually animated features were carefully devoid of expression – a telling sign in itself. It had been a week since they'd returned to the People's Palace, and in that time his suspicions about her loyalty had only grown stronger.

“Tell me, Mistress Berdine,” he said conversationally. “What have you discovered about my father and his dealings with Britain?”

“Very little, my lord,” Berdine said, fighting to control the growing knot in her stomach. “I found a few records of girls being taken from there. It appears that Mistress Sibyl's idea of a nunnery was moderately successful – most of the girls were taken at the parents' request, or at the very least with their permission.”

Darken leaned back, his fingers stroking at the arm of the chair. “And what of the identities of these girls? What became of them?”

Berdine swallowed, her hands clenching nervously behind her back. She was Mord-Sith; lying was second nature to her, but this was the man who until very recently she had devoted her life to serving. “I couldn't find any record of any still living, my lord. Some died in battle, but most did not survive training. I suspect the former Lord Rahl chose them for political purposes, rather than their potential as future Mord-Sith.”

“That sounds like my father,” Darken said with a wry smile. “What about the other matter I asked you to look into?”

“The bond?” Berdine asked, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly. Rahl's eyes were boring into her, asking questions of their own, and she ran through what she had decided to tell him in her mind. “I found some vague references, but nothing to suggest that it's anything more than a myth.”

Rahl eyed her warily, stroking a finger idly across his lower lip. After a long, tense moment, he spoke once more. “Very well. That will be all, Berdine.”

“My lord.” Bowing her head, Berdine hurried out of the room, her mind racing with everything that needed to be done. She had known he wouldn't believe her from the moment she was summoned. It was why she and Raina had spent the last week coming up with a contingency plan – well, she had planned and Raina had tolerated her ceaseless rambling. Now, it just needed to be set in motion.

Darken's lips twisted into a scowl as he watched her leave. Berdine couldn't have known that his father had taught him of the bond years ago; asking her about it had been a test of her loyalty – one that she had failed. And in that failure, she had confirmed the worst of his suspicions about Morgan.

He nodded meaningfully to his guard, who pressed his hand to his heart before leaving to carry out the orders Darken had given him earlier in the day. When the guard had gone, Darken opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a small journey book.

 _Dahlia,_ he wrote, _I have a task for you._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pairing: Cara/Morgan (Non-Explicit)

Lord Rahl's instructions raced through Dahlia's mind as she crept quietly along the corridor, her hunting knife tucked securely into her boot. She could not deny that she was glad to have been given the honor of completing this task herself; personal vengeance was a rare allowance for a Mord-Sith. Still, a not-so-small part of her was anxious about her chances of success. Anxious, not scared – never scared.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she approached the doorway to Morgan's chamber. She had overheard Cara and Morgan talking at the evening meal, lamenting the fact that Cara would be occupied for most of the night breaking a new prisoner. If there was ever a time to try this, it was now, when Morgan was asleep, and alone. Bending down, Dahlia slid the knife free, gripping it tightly in her right hand, before she slipped into the darkness of the room.

And promptly found herself outside again, slammed against the wall by Cara's hand on her throat. The hand holding the knife was captured by Cara's other hand, twisting painfully at her wrist until the knife clattered to the tile floor.

Dahlia's surprise at Cara's presence paled in the shadow of the look in Cara's eyes. The bright green pools blazed with anger, violence, and something Dahlia had never seen in them before, at least not directed at her – hatred. Swallowing roughly against the tight clench in her chest, Dahlia opened her mouth to speak.

“Don't,” Cara said sharply, keeping her voice low. “I don't want to hear your excuses, Dahlia. Just tell me one thing: did Darken Rahl order you to do this?”

“Cara,” Dahlia began softly, her eyes wide and earnest, “if you just think about it-”

Cara's hand tightened at Dahlia's throat, and the stiff leather neck-guard was quite possibly the only thing keeping Dahlia from choking to death. “Yes or no, Dahlia?”

Dahlia nodded, her nostrils flaring with the effort of holding back her emotions. She had hoped – but hope was foolish. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to accept the inevitable: there was no way that she would be allowed to live – even if Cara managed to find some long-lost trace of affection for her, Morgan would have no such problem. At least Dahlia could say that she had given her life trying to save the woman she loved – even if that woman didn't want to be saved, even if Cara now refused to acknowledge everything they had shared.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize Cara had spoken again. “What?”

“I asked you if you were the only one with these orders,” Cara repeated, her voice dark with irritation and danger.

“I don't know,” Dahlia said, her eyes turned down in resignation. “If Lord Rahl gave any other sisters similar instructions, he didn't tell me.”

Cara's grip loosened as she raced through her options in her mind. She was loath to let Dahlia go; she knew the woman would alert Darken Rahl about her failure as soon as she was able. But if there were other Mord-Sith in the temple out for Morgan's blood, her priority had to be ensuring the safety of her Lady Rahl.

“Please, Cara, it's for the best,” Dahlia said shakily, reaching up to touch Cara's cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes as Cara recoiled in disgust. “I was doing this for us. For what we had before Morgan showed up and tore it away from us-”

“What we had is dead,” Cara sneered, shoving Dahlia violently against the wall before releasing her and backing away. “You killed it with your blind jealousy and hatred. And if you ever come near Morgan again, I'll kill you.”

Dahlia clenched her jaw, trying to hold back her tears, but one escaped, sliding down her cheek. With one last wounded look, she turned away, heading back toward her own chamber.

Cara watched her go, feeling something in her chest shatter. She had no doubts about her choices, but Dahlia had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember – knowing with such certainty that she never would be again was a hard thing to accept.

But that wasn't important now. With a slight shake of her head to clear it, Cara turned back to look through the doorway, where Morgan was lying asleep in her bed. What was between her and Morgan was not love, or anything like what she had shared with Dahlia, but it was fierce and deep and loyal. She would do anything to protect Morgan – anything.

***

Meanwhile, Morgan slumbered – though not at all peacefully. She felt as though she were wide awake, a familiar awareness coming over her. When she heard the Keeper's voice reverberate through her head, she understood why.

“Morgan,” the voice boomed, “the time has come for you to leave D'Hara.”

Shock was plain on Morgan's face, teasing at the edges of her arrogant indignation. “ _Leave_? Why would I do that?”

“Darken Rahl hunts you even as we speak. He will not stop until he sees you dead – but his power does not extend across the sea. You will be safe there until his path reaches its inevitable end.”

“You wish me to live,” Morgan said, irritation creeping into her tone. “But you have not told me why. I have done everything you have asked of me, yet you continue to keep me in the dark.”

“My plans are my own.” The Keeper's voice hardened, echoing menacingly in Morgan's ears. “You will know what you need to know and nothing more. Seek out Mistress Sibyl; she will provide what you will need to return home.”

“ _This_ is my home,” Morgan protested, but it was too late – the presence was gone.

***

“Morgan!” Cara hissed as she shook insistently at Morgan's shoulder. She had been trying to wake the woman for a few minutes now – precious time that they would need to form a plan. Relief flooded her chest as the woman finally blinked awake.

“What's going on?” Morgan murmured sleepily. Then the Keeper's words came back to her, and she jerked up to a sitting position, the thin blanket pooling under her naked breasts. Sleep couldn't be further from her mind now. “I have to leave.”

Cara nodded, collecting Morgan's leathers from where they were folded neatly on a nearby table. “Yes, Mistress,” Cara said, bringing the leathers over as Morgan threw the blanket aside.

“Who was it?” Morgan asked idly as Cara helped her into her clothes. She could think of a few people in the temple who would want to kill her.

“Dahlia,” Cara said roughly, tugging the laces tight against Morgan's back. “She's probably writing to Darken Rahl as we speak. We don't have much time.”

“Then we should not waste it,” Morgan said, pulling her hair back with a strip of leather rather than taking the time to braid it. She sat on the edge of the bed long enough to tug on her boots before rushing out of the room, and Cara snatched up the remainder of Morgan's uniform as she hurried after.

***

Dahlia waited anxiously at the edge of the room as Darken Rahl appeared in a burst of blue flames.

“What happened?” He asked, heading immediately for the door, sparing only the briefest of glances her way.

Dahlia followed close behind him. “When I returned to my chamber, the journey book was lying open on my bed,” she lied smoothly. “I suspect Morgan was going through my room and found it.”

A grim smile touched Darken's lips as he hurried down the stairs. Of course Morgan would be suspicious – it was a family trait, after all. “Then she knows I mean to kill her,” he mused. “She won't be sitting idly by. I only wonder why she has waited to act thus far – frankly, I'm surprised you lived long enough to send me that message.”

“She must be planning something, my lord,” Dahlia said, thankful that Lord Rahl was in front of her and could not see the burn of her cheeks. She couldn't help but try to protect Cara, as Cara had always done for her. As long as she still lived, and Cara remained in Lord Rahl's good graces, Dahlia could still hope that she could one day get her back. Once Morgan was out of the way, at least.

“Whatever it is,” Darken said solemnly, “she won't get away with it.”

***

“I don't see why I can't go with you,” Cara argued, leading a freshly saddled horse to the entrance of the stables where Morgan already stood with another. Switching mounts would give her an advantage over whatever search party Darken Rahl sent after her, and these were the two fastest horses the temple possessed.

“I need you here,” Morgan said, taking the reins from Cara's hand.

“But _why_?” Cara asked, bringing over Morgan's corset and neck-guard and strapping them on to the woman. “Surely I'd be better use at your side, to protect you from whatever forces Rahl sends after you.”

Morgan smiled, almost fondly. “Your concern for my well-being is noted, and appreciated,” she said, turning to face Cara as the blonde slid her belt around her waist, buckling it swiftly before moving to secure the holster around her thigh. Morgan reached for Cara's chin, angling her face up towards her. “But the most useful thing you can do for me right now is to keep me apprised of my cousin's plans. The easiest way to do that is for you to be at his side.”

“I don't like it,” Cara said firmly.

“I'm sure you will manage,” Morgan said, releasing Cara's chin as she moved over to a wall lined with storage chests. Opening each one in turn, she finally pulled out a pair of journey books, and tucked one of them into her pack. The other she pressed into Cara's hands. “I am counting on you to tell me everything you hear, anything that could be of use. It will not be easy; he is not going to be happy with you when Dahlia tells him of your interference."

Cara scoffed, clutching the book in her hands. “I can handle Darken Rahl,” she said with a smirk. Her eyebrow quirked teasingly. “As long as I have your permission to use all of the skills at my disposal.”

Morgan scowled as she tugged Cara close by the strap of her neck-guard, claiming Cara's mouth in a rough, possessive kiss.

With a moan, Cara reached for Morgan's waist, the journey book digging into the leather at Morgan's back as they pressed tightly together, tongues and lips tangled together almost desperately. Finally, Morgan forced herself to pull away, breathing heavily as she pinned Cara with a sharp gaze.

“Do whatever you need to,” Morgan said, her lip curling in distaste as she forced out the words. “Just never forget where your true allegiance lies.”

***

After seeing Morgan off, Cara rushed back into the temple, stopping off at her own chamber to drop off the journey book before heading for Dahlia's. Her path took her past Morgan's chambers, which Darken Rahl was exiting just as she approached.

“Mistress Cara,” he greeted, his eyes dark with suspicion. “How interesting to find you up and about at this hour.”

“Are you finished with the prisoner, then?” Dahlia asked hurriedly, shooting Cara a wide-eyed look from behind Lord Rahl.

Cara glanced between them uneasily. “I'm afraid so,” she said warily, deciding to go along with Dahlia's silent urging. “He is still weak and cannot withstand prolonged training. Lord Rahl, I'm surprised to see you here so suddenly. Is everything alright?”

“I have reason to suspect that Morgan is a traitor; that she has been sowing discord, plotting to usurp my throne,” Darken said with a scowl. “Seeing as she is now missing, it appears that I was right.”

“My lord, I had no idea,” Cara said, forcing concern into her voice. “I'll gather a search party immediately. She can't have gotten far.”

Rahl eyed her carefully, unable to tell exactly how much of Cara's words were truth. “See that you do,” he said curtly. “She has betrayed me and, in so doing, all of D'Hara. Such treachery cannot be allowed to go unchecked.”

Cara clenched her jaw, forcing back the desire to defend her mistress. She tilted her head sharply in acknowledgment. “Right away, my lord.”

“I will be heading back to the People's Palace presently,” Darken said. “It's possible she may be headed there, to try to claim my throne by force. I must gather my forces.”

He turned, walking back in the direction of the stairs as Dahlia and Cara walked in the opposite direction. After a few steps, he turned back. “And Cara?”

Cara whirled around to meet his gaze. “My lord?”

“Have Dahlia lead the search party,” he said, a cruel smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You should remain here, in case she returns.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cara said through her teeth. The conversation hadn't fooled her any more than it had fooled him – she could see that he still didn't trust her. That she had, in fact, been planning to lead the search party in the opposite direction of where Morgan was headed was besides the point.

As Darken's footsteps faded down the hallway, Dahlia turned to look at Cara expectantly, a hope that was scarcely justified shining in her eyes.

Cara looked back at her in disgust. It was clear that Dahlia expected some sort of gratitude for covering up Cara's interference in Morgan's attempted assassination, but it was too little, too late. Dahlia didn't understand, and likely never would; her blind loyalty to Darken Rahl was proof that Cara had been wise not to trust her with the truth of Morgan's identity.

She tried to find words to express her disappointment, but they wouldn't come. Finally, Cara gave up, shaking her head as she turned away from Dahlia to wake her sisters. She had a search party to deceive.

***

It was nearly a week later when Morgan rode up to the gates of the nunnery, night cloaking her approach. The sprawling temple was dark, save for the torch being held by the black-robed woman at the gate.

“Mistress Sibyl,” Morgan greeted coldly. Even weary from riding almost non-stop, she had enough presence of mind to remember everything her former mistress had withheld from her. If the Keeper hadn't specifically instructed her to seek the woman's help, Morgan would have gladly found her own way back to Britain.

“Morgan,” Sibyl said urgently. “Quick, we must get you inside.”

In one of the darkened windows of the second floor, a shadowy figure watched as Morgan dismounted. When they led the horses quietly into the stables off of the main courtyard, the figure faded back into the darkness, hurrying to her journey book.

***

The years had aged Sibyl, but she didn't look all that different from the woman Morgan remembered the first time she came to this place. It was unnerving, to think of herself as that scared, confused child, so easily led. Now she looked on the old woman's eager smile with arrogant disdain.

“You knew who I was,” Morgan stated.

It was not a question, but Sibyl nodded anyway, a hesitant look on her face. “I wanted to tell you, child.”

“I'm not a child,” Morgan snapped, turning to place her pack on one of the chests lining the wall. “I am Lady Morgan Rahl, rightful ruler of D'Hara and Britain both by virtue of my birth. Why did you keep it from me?”

“It was too dangerous, Morgan,” Sibyl lamented. “Look at what has come from knowing the truth. Had I told you before, you would have let it slip, or lorded it over the other girls, and Darken Rahl would have had you killed before you had the chance to learn to defend yourself.”

Morgan clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing dangerously as she reached for the power within her, lashing out at Sibyl with it. She couldn't bring herself to strike out physically at her former mistress, but she could hurt her in other ways. Sibyl cried out, stumbling to brace herself against the wall as the bond twisted inside her.

“So everything I went through – the pain, the torture, enduring the scorn of my sisters – that was all to protect me?” Morgan asked in disbelief, her eyes locked on the older woman. “You watched them make a mockery of me, knowing all the while that they should be bowing before me pledging their devotion.”

Sibyl opened her mouth to respond, but a strangled cry came out instead as Morgan manipulated the bond, expertly tugging in just the right places to cause the maximum amount of pain.

“I think you enjoyed it,” Morgan sneered. “That's why you gave me all those lessons, isn't it? So that you could say that you had a hand in shaping the future ruler of D'Hara.”

“I...stand by my choices, Morgan,” Sibyl gasped out, clutching at her chest as though she could sever the thread that bound them together. “There are things you needed to learn before you could rule – things you still must learn.”

Morgan let up on the bond, growing weary of asking questions and not getting any real answers in return. “I know all I need to,” she said haughtily, looking around the stables. “The Keeper informed me that you would provide what I require to return to Britain.”

“Yes,” Sibyl said with a sigh of relief. She moved to open one of the chests, digging deep to pull out a bundle that had been buried underneath some spare tack. “I've packed enough gold to buy passage on a ship, and I found a set of robes that should fit you. You'll need to leave your leathers here, I'm afraid. It would be too easy for you to be recognized between here and the coast.”

“Very well,” Morgan agreed reluctantly. “But I'm not leaving my agiel.”

Sibyl nodded; she'd expected as much. “Just conceal it well, and don't try to use it until you're safely away from D'Hara,” she said. “When you're ready, I have a horse saddled and waiting for you by the side gate. With any luck, your departure will go unnoticed.”

Morgan smirked, reaching up to begin unfastening the buckles and laces of her leathers. “Is Mistress Nyda still watching your every move like a hawk?”

“She's probably writing to Lord Rahl of your arrival as we speak,” Sibyl said drily, her eyes flashing in irritation as she moved behind Morgan, reaching for the laces running down her back. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Her mind racing with thoughts of what was to come, Morgan endured Sibyl's assistance stoically. She could put aside her indignant anger for the moment, if it meant she could get away from this place that much more quickly.

***

“Lord Rahl,” Egremont began, moving close to Darken's throne. “Your orders have been carried out. The nunnery burned to the ground, and our scouts report no survivors.”

"Good," Darken replied, leaning back in his throne. If he was lucky, Morgan had still been inside. But he had never been one to rely on luck.

A guard opened the main door to the throne room, poking his head through. “Mistresses Cara and Triana await your audience, my lord.”

Darken's lips curved up into a dark smile. “Send them in.”

Cara sauntered into the room with her usual confidence, Triana trailing submissively behind. “How may I be of service, my lord?” She asked, raising an eyebrow seductively.

"Denna has disgraced herself once again, only this time she had the presence of mind to flee," Rahl explained, his gaze narrowing as he pinned her with it. "That leaves me with a position open here at the People's Palace. One I wish for you to fill."

"My lord, you honor me,” Cara said, bowing her head to conceal the satisfied smile that tugged at her lips.

"See that you do the same in return," he replied, his voice cold steel. "You are dismissed, for now. You may have the afternoon to settle in, but I expect your service to begin this evening in my chambers."

Cara's lips spread into a sultry smile as she looked back up at him. "I look forward to it, my lord."

Egremont watched the two Mord-Sith turn and leave, only daring to speak when the door closed behind them. "Is this wise, Lord Rahl? Cara was extremely loyal to Morgan."

"All the more reason to keep a close eye on her, Egremont," Darken said smoothly. "I am not so deluded as to think she can be trusted. I requested that Triana join her for a reason; she doesn't have the same devotion to Cara that Dahlia does, and therefore can be of use to me in keeping track of what my cousin may be plotting."

"Your cousin, my lord?" Egremont asked, his bushy brow furrowing in confusion.

“Morgan Rahl," Darken said with an uneasy smirk. "If by some miracle she managed to escape the fire, I imagine she is probably running for her life. But I do not believe for a moment that she is finished with D'Hara."

***

Morgan gripped the rail of the ship as she watched D'Hara fade into the distance. She would be back - and she would claim what was hers by right.

For now, it was time to finally complete her training. Uther Pendragon's days were numbered.

 

_end part I_


End file.
